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What Can She Do ? 



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New York 

Dodd, Mead and Company 

1 898 


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PREFACE. 



‘HIS book was not written to amuse, to create pur- 


poseless excitement, or to secure a little praise as a 
bit of artistic work. It would probably fail in all these 
things. It was written with a definite, earnest purpose, 
which I trust will be apparent to the reader. 

As society in our land grows older, and departs from 
primitive simplicity, as many are becoming rich, but more 
poor, the changes that I have sought ' to warn against 
become more threatening. The ordinary avenues of in- 
dustry are growing thronged, and it daily involves a more 
fearful risk for a woman to be thrown out upon the world 
with unskilled hands, an untrained mind, and an unbraced 
moral nature. Impressed with this danger by some con- 
siderable obser\^ation, by a multitude of facts that might 
wring tears from stony eyes, I have tried to write earnestly 
if not wisely. 

Of necessity, it touches somewhat on a subject delicate 
and difficult to treat — the skeleton in the closet ” of 
society. But the evil exists on every side, and at some 
time or other threatens every home and life. It is my 
belief that Christian teachers should not timidly or loftily 
ignore it, for, mark it well, the evil does not let us or ours 


V] 


PREFACE. 


alone. It is my belief that it should be dealt with in a 
plain, fearless, manly manner. Those who differ with me 
have a right to their opinion. 

There is one other thought that I wish to suggest. Much 
of the fiction of our day, otherwise strong and admirable, 
is discouraging in this respect. In the delineation of char- 
acter, some are good, some are bad, and some indifferent. 
We have a lovely heroine, a noble hero, developing seem- 
ingly in harmony with the inevitable laws of their natures. 
Associated with them are those of the commoner or baser 
sort, also developing in accordance with the innate prin- 
ciples of their natures. The first are presented as if created 
of finer clay than the others. The first are the flowers in 
the garden of society, the latter the weeds. According to 
this theory of character, the heroine must grow as a moss- 
rose and the weed remain a weed. Credit is not due to 
one ; blame should not be visited on the other. Is this 
true? Is not the choice between good and evil placed 
before every human soul, save where ignorance and mental 
feebleness destroy free agency ? In the field of the world 
which the angels of God are to reap, is it not even possible 
for the tares to become wheat? And cannot the sweetest 
and most beautiful natural flowers of character borrow 
from the skies a fragrance and bloom not of earth? So 
God’s inspired Word teaches me. 

I have turned , away from many an exquisite and artistic 
delineation of human life, sighing, God might as well never 
have spoken words of hope, warning, and strength for all 
there is in this book. The Divine and human Friend might 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


have remained in the Heavens, and never come to earth 
in human guise, that He might press His great heart of 
world-wide sympathy against the burdened, suffering heart 
of humanity. He need not have died to open a way of 
life for all. There is nothing here but human motive, human 
strength, and earthly destiny. We protest against this 
narrowing down of life, though it be done with the faultless 
skill and taste of the most cultured genius. The children 
of men are not orphaned. Our Creator is still “ Emmanuel 
— God with us.” Earthly existence is but the prelude of 
our life, and even from this the Divine artist can take much 
of the discord, and give an earnest of the eternal harmonies. 

We all are honored with the privilege of “co-working 
with Him.” 

If I in my little sphere can by this book lead one father 
to train his children to be more strong and self-reliant, one 
mother to teach her daughters a purer, more patient, more 
heroic womanhood — if I have placed one more barrier in 
the tempter’s way, and inspired one more wholesome fear 
and principle in the heart of the tempted — if, by lifting 
the dark curtain a moment, I can reveal enough to keep 
one country girl from leaving her safe native village for 
unprotected life in some great city — if I can add one iota 
toward a public opinion that will honor useful labor, how- 
ever humble, and condemn and render disgraceful idleness 
and helplessness, however gilded — if, chief of all, I lead 
one heavy-laden heart to the only source of rest, I shall 
be well rewarded, whatever is said of this volume. 


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CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER I. „G. 

Three Girls . i 

CHAPTER II. 

A Future op Human Designing 9 

CHAPTER HI. 

Three Men 22 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Skies Darkening 34 

CHAPTER V. 

The Storm Threatening 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Wreck - 61 

CHAPTER VH. 

Among the Breakers 75 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Warped 92 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Desert Island 105 

CHAPTER X. 

Edith becomes a “Divinity” 118 

ix 


K 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. PAGE 

Mrs. Allen’s Policy .134 

CHAPTER XII. 

Waiting for Some One to turn up 144 

CHAPTER XHI. 

They turn up ' . 164 

CHAPTER XIV. 

We can’t work ^178 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Temptation 188 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Black Hannibal’s White Heart 202 

CHAPTER XVH. 

The Changes of Two Short Months 21 1 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Ignorance looking for Work , 225 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Falling Star . . 232 

CHAPTER XX. 

Desolation 240 

CHAPTER XXL 

Edith’s True Knight 250 

CHAPTER XXH. 

A Mystery 258 

CHAPTER XXIH. 

A Dangerous Step 264 j 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Scorn and Kindness 268 


CONTENTS. Xi 

CHAPTER XXV. face 

A Horror of Great Darkness 274 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Friend and Saviour 280 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Mystery Solved 289 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Edith tells the Old, Old Story 303 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Hannibal learns how his Heart can be White . . . 313 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Edith’s and Arden’s Friendship 320 

CHAPTER XXXL 

Zell 336 

CHAPTER XXXH. 

Edith brings the Wanderer Home 351 

CHAPTER XXXHI. 

Edith’s Great Temptation 374 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Saved 3 ^^ 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Closing Scenes 394 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Last Words . . > 402 


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WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


CHAPTER I. 

THREE GIRLS. 

I T was a very cold blustering day in early January, and 
even brilliant thronged Broadway felt the influence of 
winter’s harshest frown. There had been a heavy fall of 
snow which, though in the main cleared from the sidewalks, 
lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and unpacked. 
Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it 
in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window sills, 
miniature avalanches suddenly descended on the startled 
pedestrians, and the air was here and there loaded with fall- 
ing flakes from wild hurrying masses of clouds, the rear- 
guard of the storm that the biting northwest wind was 
driving seaward. 

It was early in the afternoon, and the great thoroughfare 
was almost deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for 
pleasure in such weather, and the great tide of humanity 
that must flow up and down this channel every working day 
of the year under all skies had not yet turned northward. 

But surely this graceful figure coming up the street with 
quick, elastic steps has not the aspect of one driven forth 
by grave business cares, nor in the natural course of things 
would one expect so young a lady to know much of life’s 


2 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


burdens and responsibilities. As she passes I am sure the 
reader would not turn away from so pleasant a vision, even, 
if Broadway were presenting all its numberless attractions,, 
but at such a time would make the most of the occasion, 
assured that nothing so agreeable would greet his eyes again 
that sombre day. 

The fierce gusts make little impression on her heavy, 
close-fitting velvet dress, and in her progress against the 
wind she appears so trim and taut that a sailor’s eye would 
be captivated. She bends her little turbaned head to the 
blast, and her foot strikes the pavement with a decision that 
suggests a naturally brave, resolute nature, and gives abun- 
dant proof of vigor and health. A trimming of silver fox 
fur caught and contrasted the snow crystals against the 
black velvet of her dress, in which the flakes catch and 
mingle, increasing the sense of lightness and airiness which 
her movements awaken, and were you seeking a fanciful 
embodiment of the spirit of the snow, you might rest satis- 
fied with the first character that appears upon the scene of 
my story. 

But on nearer view there was nothing spirit-like or even 
spirituelle in her aspect, save that an extremely transparent 
complexion was rendered positively dazzling by the keen 
air and the glow of exercise ; and the face was much too 
full and blooming to suggest the shadowy and ethereal. 

When near Twenty-first Street she entered a fruit store 
and seemed in search of some delicacy for an invalid. As 
her eye glanced around among the fragrant tropical fruits 
that suggested lands in wide contrast to the wintry scene 
without, she suddenly uttered a low exclamation of delight, 
as she turned from them to old friends, all the more wel- 
come because so unexpected at that season. These were 
nothing less than a dozen strawberries, in dainty baskets, 
decked out, or more truly eked out, with a few green leaves. 


THREE GIRLS. 


3 


Three or four basket^ constituted J;he fruiterer’s entire stocky 
and probably the entire supply for th^ metropolis of America 
that day. 

She had scarcely time to lift a basket and inhale its 
delicious aroma, before the proprietor of the store was in 
bowing attendance, quite as openly admiring her carnation 
cheeks as she the ruby fruit. The man’s tongue was, how- 
ever, more decorous than his eyes, and to her question as to 
price he replied, — 

“ Only two dollars a basket, miss, and certainly they are 
beauties for this season of the year. They are all I could 
get, and I don’t believe there is another strawberry in New 
York.” 

“ I will take them all,” was the brief, decisive answer, and 
from a costly portemonnaie she threw down the price, a 
proceeding which the man noted in agreeable surprise, 
again curiously scanning the fair face as he made up the 
parcel with ostentatious zeal. But his customer was uncon- 
scious, or, more truly, indifferent to his admiration, and 
seemed much more interested in the samples of choice fruit 
arranged on every side. From one to another of these she 
flitted with the delicate sensuousness of a butterfly, smelling 
them and touching them lightly with the hand she had un- 
gloved, (which was as white as the snow without,) as if they 
had for her a peculiar fascination. 

“ You seem very fond of fruit,” said the merchant, his 
amour prop7'e pleased by her evident interest in his stock. 

“ I have ever had a passion for fine fruits and flowers,” 
was the reply, spoken with that perfect frankness character- 
istic of American girls. “ No, you need not send it ; I 
prefer to take it with me.” 

And with a slight smile, she passed out, leaving the 
fruiterer chuckling over the thought that he had probably 
had the pleasantest bit of trade on Broadway that dull day. 


4 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 

Plunging through the drifts, our nymph of the snow reso- 
lutely crossed the street and passed down to a flower store, 
but, instead of buying a bouquet, ordered several pots of 
budding and blooming plants to be sent to her address. 
She then made her way to Fifth Avenue and soon mounted 
a broad flight of steps to one of its most stately houses. 
The door yielded to her key, her thick walking boots clat- 
tered for a moment on the marble floor, but could not 
disguise the lightness of her step as she tripped up the 
winding stair and pushed open a rosewood door leading 
into the upper hall. 

^‘^Mother, mother,” she exclaimed, “ here is a treat for 
you that will banish nerves, headache, and horrors generally. 
See what I have found for you out in the wintry snows. 
Now am I not a good fairy for once^” 

“ O Edith, child, not so boisterous, please,” responded 
a querulous voice from a great easy-chair by the glowing 
grate, and a middle-aged lady turned a white, faded face 
towards her daughter. 

“ Forgive me, mother, but my tramp in the January storm 
has made me feel rampantly well. I wish you could go out 
and take a run every day as I do. You would then look 
younger and prettier than your daughters, as you used to.” 

The invalid shivered and drew her shawl closer around 
her, complaining, — 

“ I think you have brought the whole month of January 
in with you. You really must show more consideration, my 
dear, for if I should take cold — ” and the lady ended with 
a weary, suggestive sigh. 

In fact, Edith had entered the dim heavily-perfumed 
room like a gust of wholesome air, her young blood tingling 
and electric with exercise, and her heart buoyant with the 
thought of the surprise and pleasure she had in store for 
her mother. But the manner in which she had been 


THREE GIRLS. 


5 


received had already chilled her more than the biting blas ts 
on Broadway. She therefore opened her bundle and set oat 
the little baskets before her mother very quietly. The lady 
glanced at them for a moment and then said, indiffe**- 
ently, — 

“ It is very good of you to think of me, my dear ; they 
look very pretty. I am sorry I cannot eat them, but their 
acid would only increase my dyspepsia. Those raised in 
winter must be very sour. Ugh ! the thought of it sets my 
teeth on edge,” and the poor, nervous creature shrank 
deeper into her wrappings. 

“ I am very sorry, mother, I thought they would be a 
great treat for you,” said Edith, quite crestfallen. “ Never 
mind ; I got some flowers, and they will be here soon.” 

“Thank you, dear, but the doctor says they are not 
healthy in a room — Oh, dear — that child! what shall I 
do!” 

The front door banged, there was a step on the stairs, 
but not so light as Edith’s had been, and a moment later the 
door burst open, and “ the child ” rushed in like a mild 
whirlwind, exclaiming, — 

“ Hurrah ! hurrah ! school to the shades. No more 
teachers and tyrants for me,” and down went an armful of 
books with a bang on the table. 

“ O Zell ! ” cried Edith, “ please be quiet ; mother has a 
headache.” 

“There, there, your baby will kiss it all away,” and the 
irrepressible young creature threw her arms around the 
bundle that Mrs. Allen had made herself into by her many 
Wrappings, and before she ceased, the red pouting lips left 
the faintest tinge of their own color on the faded cheeks 
of the mother. 

The lady endured the boisterous embrace with a martyr- 
like expression. Zell was evidently a privileged character, the 


6 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


spoiled pet of the household. But a new voice was now 
heard that was sharper than the pet ” was accustomed to. 

Zell, you are a perfect bear. One would think you had 
learned your manners at a boys’ boarding school.” 

Zell’s great black eyes blazed for a moment towards the 
speaker, who was a young lady reclining on a lounge near 
the window, and who in appearance must have been the 
counterpart of Mrs. Allen herself as she had looked twenty- 
three years before. In contrast with her sharp, annoyed 
tone, her cheeks and eyes were wet with tears. 

“What are you crying about?” was Zell’s brusque re- 
sponse. “ Oh, I see ; a novel. What a ridiculous old 
thing you are. I never saw you shed a tear over real trouble, 
and yet every few days you are dissolved in brine over 
Adolph Moonshine’s agonies, and Seraphina’s sentiment, 
which any sensible person can see is caused by dyspepsia. 
No such whipped syllabub for me, but real life.” 

“ And what does ‘ real life ’ mean for you, I would like to 
know, but eating, dressing, and flirting? ” was the acid retort. 

“ Though you call me ‘ child,’ I have lived long enough 
to learn that eating, dressing, and flirting, and while you are 
about it you might as well add drinking, is the ‘ real life ’ of 
most of the ladies of our set. Indeed, if my poor memory 
does not fail me, I have seen you myself take a turn at 
these things sufficiently often to make the sublime scorn of 
your tone a little inconsistent.” 

As these barbed arrows flew, the tears rapidly exhaled 
from the hot cheeks of tne young lady on the sofa. Her 
elegant languor vanished, and she started up ; but Mrs. 
Allen now interfered, and in tones harsh and high, very dif- 
ferent from the previous delicate murmurs, exclaimed, — 

“ Children, you drive me wild. Zell, leave the room, and 
don’t show yourself again till you can behave yourself.” 

Zell was now sobbing, partly in sorrow, and partly in 


THREE GIRLS. / 

anger, but she let fly a few more Parthian arrows over her 
shoulder as she passed out. 

‘‘ This is a pretty way to treat one on their birthday. I 
came home with heart as light as the snowflakes around 
me, and now you have spoiled everything. I don’t know 
how it is, but I always have a good time everywhere else, 
but there is something in this house that often sets one’s 
teeth on edge,” and the door banged appropriately with a 
spiteful emphasis as the last word was spoken. 

“ Poor child,” said Edith, “it is too bad that she should 
be so dashed with cold water on her birthday.” 

“She isn’t a child,” said the eldest sister, rising from the 
sofa and sweeping from the room, “ though she often acts 
like one, and a very bad one too. Her birthday should 
remind her that if she is ever to be a woman, it is time to 
commence,” and the stately young lady passed coldly away. 

Edith went to the window and looked dejectedly out into 
the early gloom of the declining winter day. Mrs. Allen sighed 
and looked more nervous and uncomfortable than usual. 

The upholsterer had done his part in that elegant home. 
The feet sank into the carpets as in moss. Luxurious chairs 
seemed to embrace the form that sank into them. Every 
thing was padded, rounded, and softened, except tongues 
and tempers. If wealth could remove the asperities from 
these as from material things, it might well be coveted. 
But this is beyond the upholsterer’s art, and Mrs. Allen knew 
little of the Divine art that can wrap up words and deeds 
with a kindness softer than eider-down. 

“ Mother’s room,” instead of being a refuge and a favorite 
haunt of these three girls, was a place where, as we have 
seen, their “ teeth were set on edge.” 

Naturally they shunned the place, visiting the invalid 
rather than living with her; their reluctant feet impelled 
across the threshold by a sense of duty rather than drawn 


8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


by the cords of love. The mother felt this in a vague, un- 
comfortable way, for mother love was there, only it had 
seemingly turned sour, and instead of attracting her children r 
by sweetness and sympathy, she querulously complained to 
them and to her husband of their neglect. He would some- 
times laugh it off, sometimes shrug his shoulders indifferently, 
and again harshly chide the girls, according to his mood, for 
he varied much in this respect. After being cool and wary 
all day in Wall Street, he took off the curb at home ; there- 
fore the variations that never could be counted on. How 
he would be at dinner did not depend on himself or any 
principle, but on circumstances. In the main he was indul- 
gent and kind, though quick and passionate, brooking no 
opposition ; and the girls were really more attached to him i 
and found more pleasure in his society than in their mother’s. 
Zelica, the youngest, was his special favorite, and he humored 
and petted her at a ruinous rate, though often storming at 
some of her follies. 

Mrs. Allen saw this preference of her husband, and was 
weak enough to feel and show jealousy. But her complain- 
ings were ineffectual, for we can no more scold people into 
loving us than nature could make buds blossom by daily 
nipping them with frost. And yet she made her children 
uncomfortable by causing them to feel that it was unnatural 
and wrong that they did not care more for their mother. 
This was especially true of Edith, who tried to satisfy her 
conscience, as we have seen, by bringing costly presents and 
delicacies that were seldom needed or appreciated. 

Edith soon became so oppressed by her mother’s sighs 
and silence and the lieavy perfumed air, that she sprang up, 
and pressing a remorseful kiss on the white thin face, said, — i 

“ I must dress for dinner, mamma : I will send your 
maid,'’ and vanished also. 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING, 


9 


CHAPTER II. 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. 



HE dining-room at six o'clock wore a far more cheerful 


X aspect than the invalid’s room up-stairs. It was fur- 
nished in a costly manner, but more ostentatiously than good 
taste would dictate. You instinctively felt that it was a sacred 
place to the master of the house, in which he daily sacrificed 
to one of his chosen deities. 

The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest, 
has just placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters, 
supporting his wife. He had a sort of manly toleration for 
all her whims and weaknesses. He had never indulged in 
any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor had any special longings 
for her sympathy and companionship. Business was the one 
engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly believed 
woman incapable of, from her very nature. It was true of 
his wife, but due to a false education rather than to any in- 
nate difficulties, and he no more expected her to com- 
prehend and sympathize intelligently with his business 
operations, than to see her go down to Wall Street with him 
wearing his hat and coat. 

She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He 
had admired her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman, 
and carried her off from dozens of competitors, who were 
fortunate in their failure. He always maintained a show of 
gallantry and deference ; which, though but veneer, was cer- 
tainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect. 


WUA T CAN SHE DO ? ’ 


lO 

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and politeness, 
he seated the feeble creature in a cushioned chair at the 
table, treating her more like a spoiled child than as a friend 
and companion. The girls immediately appeared also, for 
they knew their father’s weakness too well to keep him 
waiting for his dinner. 

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive style, 
and the father caressed her in a way that showed that his 
heart was very tender toward his youngest child. 

“And so my baby is seventeen to-day,” he said. “Well, 
well, how fast we are growing old.” 

The girl laughed ; the man sighed. The one was on the 
threshold of what she deemed the richest pleasures of life ; 
the other had well-nigh exhausted them, and for a moment 
realized it. 

Still he was in excellent spirits, for he had been unusually 
fortunate that day, and had seen his way to an “operation ” 
that promised a golden future. He sat down therefore to 
the good cheer with not a little of the spirit of the man in 
the parable, whose complacent exhortation to his soul has 
ever been the language of false security and prosperity. 

The father’s open favoritism for Zell was another source 
of jealousy, her sisters naturally feeling injured by it. Thus 
in this household even human love was discordant and per- 
verted, and the Divine love unknown. What chance had 
character, that thing of slow growth, in such an atmos- 
phere ? 

The popping of a champagne cork took the place of 
grace at the opening of the meal, and the glasses were filled 
all around. In honor of Zell’s birthday they drank to her 
health and happiness. By no better form or more suggestive 
ceremony could this Christian ( ?) family wish their young- 
est member “ God-speed ” on entering the vicissitudes of 
a new year of life. But what they did was done heartily, 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. 1 1 

and every glass was drained. To them it seemed very 
appropriate, and her father said, glancing admiringly at her 
flaming cheeks and dancing eyes, — 

“This is just the thing to drink Zell’s health in, for she 
is as full of sparkle and effervescence as the champagne 
itself.” 

Had he been a wiser and more thoughtful man, he would 
have carried the simile further and remembered the fate of 
champagne when exposed. However piquant and pleasing 
Zell’s sparkle might be, it would hardly secure success and 
safety for life; But in his creed a girl’s first duty was to 
be pretty and fascinating, and he was extremely proud of 
the beauty of his daughters. It was his plan to marry them 
to rich men who would maintain them in the irresponsible 
luxury that their mother had enjoyed. 

Circumstances seemed to justify his security. The son 
of a rich man, he had also inherited a taste for business 
and the art of making money. Years of prosperity had con- 
firmed his confidence, and he looked complacently around 
upon his family and talked of the future in sanguine tones. 

He was a man considerably past his prime, and his florid 
face and portly form indicated that he was in the habit of 
doing ample justice to the good cheer before him. Intense 
application to business in early years and indulgence of 
appetite in later life had seriously impaired a constitution 
naturally good. He reminded you of a flower fully blown 
or of fruit overripe. 

“ Since you have permitted Zell to leave school, I suppose 
she must make her debut soon,” said Mrs. Allen with more 
animation than usual in her tone. 

“ Oh, certainly,” cried Zell, “ on Edith’s birthday, in 
February. We have arranged it all, haven’t we, Edith?” 

“ Heigho ! then I am to have no part in the matter,” said 
her father. 


12 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 

^‘Yes indeed, papa,” cried the saucy girl, ^‘you are to 
have no end of kisses, and a very long bill.” 

This sally pleased him immensely, for it expressed his 
ideal of womanly return for masculine affection, at least the 
bills had never been wanting in his experience. But, mel- 
lowed by wine and elated by the success of the day, he 
now prepared to give the couJ> that would make a far greater 
sensation in the family circle than even a debut or a birth- 
day party. So, glancing from one eager face to another, (for 
between the wine and the excitement even Mrs. Allen was no 
longer a colorless, languid creature, ready to faint at the 
embrace of her child,) he said with a twinkle in his eye, — 

“Well, go to your mother about the party. She is a 
veteran in such matters. But let there be some limit to 
the length of the bill, or I can’t carry out another plan I 
have in view for you.” 

Chorus — “ What is that? ” 

Coolly filling his glass, he commenced leisurely sipping, 
while glancing humorously from one to another, enjoying 
their impatient expectancy. 

“ If you don’t tell us right away,” cried Zell, bouncing 
up, “ I’ll pull your whiskers without mercy.” 

“ Papa, you will throw mother into a fever. See how 
flushed her face is !” said Laura, the eldest daughter, speak- 
ing at the same time two words for herself. 

The face of Edith, with dazzling complexion all aglow, 
and large dark eyes lustrous with excitement, was more 
eloquent than words could have been, and the bo7i vivant 
drank in her expression with as much zest as he sipped his 
wine. Perhaps it was well for him to make the most of 
that little keen-edged moment of bright anticipation and 
bewildering hope, for what he was about to propose would 
cost him many thousands, and exile him from business, 
which to him was the very breath of life. . 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. 1 3 

But Mrs. Allen’s matter-of-fact voice brought things to 
a crisis, for with an injured air she said, — 

“ How can you, George, when you know the state of my 
nerves? ” 

“ What I propose, mamma, will cure your nerves and 
everything else, for it is nothing less than a tour through 
Europe.” 

There was a shriek of delight from the girls, in which 
even the exquisite Laura joined, and Mrs. Allen trembled 
with excitement. Apart from the trip itself, they consid- 
ered it a sort of disgrace that a family of their social posi- 
tion and wealth had never been abroad. Therefore the 
announcement was doubly welcome. Hitherto Mr. Allen’s 
devotion to business had made it impossible, and he had 
given them no hint of the near consummation of their wishes. 
But he had begun to feel the need of change and rest him- 
self, and this weighed more with him than all their entreaties. 

In a moment Zell had her arms about his neck, and her 
sisters were throwing him kisses across the table. His wife, 
looking unusually gratified, said, — 

“ You are a sensible man at last,” which was a great deal 
for Mrs. Allen to say. 

“Why, mamma,” exclaimed her husband, elevating his 
eyebrows in comic surprise, “ that I should live to hear you 
say that ! ” 

“ Now don’t be silly,” she replied, joining slightly in the 
laugh at her expense, “ or we shall think that you have taken 
too much champagne, and that this Europe business is all 
a hoax.” 

“ Wait till you have been outside of Sandy Hook an hour, 
and you will find everything real enough then. I think I see 
the elegant ladies of my household about that time.” 

“ For shame, papa ! what an uncomfortable suggestion 
over a dinner table ! ” said the* fastidious Laura. “ Picture 


14 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


the ladies of your household in the salons of Paris. I | 
promise we will do you credit there.” j 

“ I hope so, for I fear I shall have need of credit when | 
you all reach that Mecca of women.” || 

“ It’s no more the Mecca of women than Wall Street is ‘ 
the Jerusalem of men. What you are all going to do in ^ 
Heaven without Wall Street, I don’t see.” \ 

Mr. Allen gave his significant shrug and said, “ I don’t 
meet notes till they are due,” which was his way of saying : 
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” 

“The salons of Paris!” said Edith, with some disdain. 
“Think of the scenery, the orange-groves, and vineyards 
that we shall see, the Alpine flowers — ” 

“ I declare,” interrupted Zell, “ I believe that Edith would 
rather see a grape-vine and orange-tree than all the toilets 
of Paris.” 

“ I shall enjoy seeing both,” was the reply, “ and so have 
the advantage of you in having two strings to my bow.” 

“ By the way, that reminds me to ask how many beaux 
you now have on the string,” said her father. 

Edith tossed her head with a pretty blush and said : “ Pity 
me, my father ; you know I am always poor at arithmetic.” 

“You will take up with a crooked stick after all. Now 
Laura is a sensible girl, like her mother, and has picked out 
one of the richest, longest-headed fellows on the street.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said his wife. “ I do not see but you are pay- 
ing yourself a greater compliment than either Laura or me.” 

“ Oh, no, a mere business statement. Laura means busi- 
ness, and so does Mr. Goulden.” 

Laura looked annoyed and said, — 

“ Pa, I thought you never talked business at home.” 

“ Oh, this is a feminine phase that women understand. 

I want your sisters to profit by your good example.” 

“ I shall marry an Italian Count,” cried Zell. 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN- DESIGNING, 


15 

“ Who will turn out a fourth-rate Italian barber, and I 
shall have to support you both. But I won’t do it. You 
would have to help him shave.” 

“No, I should transform him into a leader of banditti, 
and we would live in princely state in the Apennines. 
Then we would capture you, papa, and carry you off to the 
mountains, and I would be your jailer, and give you nothing 
but turtle-soup, champagne, and kisses, till you paid a 
ransom that would break Wall Street.” 

“ I would not pay a cent, but stay and eat you out 01 
house and home.” 

“ I never expect to marry,” said Edith, “ but some day 
I am going to commence saving my money — now don’t 
laugh, papa, for I could be economical if I once made up 
my mind ” — and the pretty head gave a decisive little nod. 

I am going to save my money and buy a beautiful place 
in the country and make it as near like the garden of Eden 
as possible.” 

“Snakes will get into it as of old,” was Mrs. Allen’s 
cynical remark. 

“ Yes, that is woman’s experience with a garden,” said 
^er husband with a mock sigh. 

' Popping off the cork of another bottle, he added, “ I 
have got ahead of you, Edith. I own a place in the coun- 
try, much as I dislike that kind of property. I had to take 
it to-day in a trade, and so am a landholder in Pushton, — • 
prospect, you see, of my becoming a rural gentleman 
(Squire is the title, I believe), and of exchanging stock in 
Wall Street for the stock of a farm. Here’s to my estate 
of three acres with a story and a half mansion upon it ! 
Perhaps you would rather go up there this summer than 
to Paris, my dear?” to his wife. 

Mrs. Allen gave a contemptuous shrug as if the jest were 
too preposterous to be answered, but Edith cried, — 


1 6 WI/A7' CAN- SHE DO ? 

“ Fill my glass ; I will drink to your country place. I 
know the cottage is a sweet rustic little box, all smothered 
with vines and roses like one I saw last June.” Then she 
added in sport, “ I wish you would give it to me for my 
birthday present. It would make such a nice porter’s lodge 
at the entrance to my future Eden.” 

“Are you in earnest? ” asked the father suddenly. 

Both were excited by the wine they had drunk. She 
glanced at her father, and saw that he was in a mood to say 
yes to anything, and, quick as thought, she determined to 
get the place if possible. 

“ Of course I am. I would rather have it than all the 
jewelry in New York.” She was over-supplied with that 
style of gift. 

“ You shall have it then, for I am sure I don’t want it, 
and am devoutly thankful to be rid of it..” 

Edith clapped her hands with a delight scarcely less 
demonstrative than that of Zell in her wildest moods. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Mrs. Allen ; “ the idea of giving a 
young lady such an elephant ! ” 

“ But remember,” continued her father, “ you must man- 
age it yourself, pay the taxes, keep it repaired, insured, etc. 
There is a first-class summer hotel near it. Next year, after 
we get back from Europe, we will go up there and stay 
awhile. You shall then take possession, employ an agent to 
take care of it, who by the way will cheat you to your heart’s 
content. I will wager you a box of gloves that, before a 
year passes, you will try to sell the ivy-twined cottage for 
anything you can get, and will be thoroughly cured of your 
mania for country life.” 

“ I’ll take you up,” said Edith, in great excitement, “ but 
remember, I want my deed on my birthday.” 

“ All right,” said Mr. Allen, laughing. “ I will transfer 
it to you to - morrow, while I think of it. But don’t 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. \J 

try to trade it off to me before next month for a new 
dress.” 

Edith was half wild over her present. Many and varied 
were her questions, but her father only said, — 

I don’t know much about it. I did not listen to half 
the man said, but I remember he stated there was a good 
deal of fruit on the place, for it made me think of you at 
the time. Bless you, I could not stop for such small game. 
I am negotiating a large and promising operation which you 
understand about as well as farming. It will take some 
time to carry it through, but when finished, we will start for 
the ‘ salons of Paris.’ ” 

“ I half believe,” said Laura, with a covert sneer, “ that 
Edith would rather go up to her farm of three acres.” 

“ I am well satisfied as papa has arranged it,” said the 
practical girl. “ Everything in its place, and get all out of 
life you can, is my creed.” 

“ That means, get all out of me you can, don’t it, sly 
puss?” laughed the father, well pleased, though, with the 
worldly wisdom of the speech. 

“ Kisses, kisses, unlimited kisses, and consider yourself 
well repaid,” was the arch rejoinder ; and not a few, looking 
at her as she then appeared, would have coveted such bar- 
gains. So her father seemed to think as he gazed admiringly 
at her. 

But something in Zell’s pouting lips and vexed expression 
caught his eye, and he said good-naturedly, — 

Heigho, youngster, what has brought a thunder-cloud 
across your saucy face?” 

“ In providing for birthdays to come, I guess you have 
forgotten your baby’s birthday present.” 

“ Come here, you envious elf,” said her father, taking 
something from his pocket. Like light she flashed out from 
under the cloud and was at his side in an instant, dimpling, 


i8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO r 


smiling, and twinkling with expectation, her black eyes as ; 
quick and restless as her father was deliberate and slow in 
undoing a dainty parcel. 

“ O George, do be quick about it, or Zell will explode, i 

You both make me nervous,” said Mrs. Allen fretfully. ! 

Suddenly pressing open a velvet casket, Mr. Allen hung 
a jewelled watch with a long gold chain about his favorite’s 
neck, while she improvised a hornpipe around his chair. 

“ There,” said he, ‘‘ is something that is worth more than 
Edith’s farm, tumble-down cottage, roses, and all. So 
remember that those lips were made to kiss, not to pout 
with.” 

Zell put her lips to proper uses to that extent that Mrs. 
Allen began to grow jealous, nervous, and out of sorts gen- 
erally, and having finished her chocolate, rose feebly from 
the table. Her husband offered his arm and the family 
dinner party broke up. 

And yet, take it altogether, each one was in higher spirits 
than usual, and Zell and Edith were in a state of positive 
delight. They had received costly gifts that specially grati- 
fied their peculiar tastes, and these, with the promise of a 
grand party and a trip to Europe, youthful buoyancy, and 
champagne, so dilated their little feminine souls that Mrs. 
Allen’s fears of an explosion of some kind were scarcely 
groundless. They dragged their stately sister Laura, now 
unwontedly bland and affable, to the piano, and called for 
the -quickest and most brilliant of waltzes, and a moment 
later their lithe figures flowed away in a rhythm of motion, 
that from their exuberance of feeling, was as fantastic as it 
was graceful. 

Mr. Allen assisted his wife to her room and soon left her 
in an unusually contented frame of mind to develop strategy 
for the coming party. Mrs. Allen’s nerves utterly incapaci- 
tated her for the care of her household, attendance upon 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. 


19 


church, and such humdrum matters, but in view of a great 
occasion like a “ grand crush ball,” where among the lumi- 
naries of fashion she could become the refulgent centre of a 
constellation which her fair daughters would make around 
her, her spirit rose to the emergency. When it came to 
dress and dressmakers and all the complications of the 
campaign now opening, notwithstanding her nerves, she 
could be quite Napoleonic. 

Her husband retired to the library, lighted a choice 
Havana, skimmed his evening papers, and then as usual 
went to his club. 

This, as a general thing, was the extent of the library’s 
literary uses. The best authors in gold and Russia smiled 
down from the black walnut shelves, but the books were 
present rather as furniture than from any intrinsic value in 
themselves to the family. They were given prominence on 
the same principle that led Mrs. Allen to give a certain tone 
to her entertainments by inviting many literary and scientific 
men. She might be unable to appreciate the works of the 
savafis, but as they appreciated the labors of her masterly 
French cook, many compromised the matter by eating the 
petits soupers and shrugging their shoulders over the enter- 
tainers. 

And yet the Allens were anything but vulgar upstarts. 
Both husband and wife were descended from old and wealthy 
New York families. They had all the polish which life-long 
association with the fashionable world bestows. What was 
more, they were highly intelligent, and, in their own sphere, 
gifted people. Mr. Allen was a leader in business in one 
of the chief commercial centres, and to lead in legitimate 
business in our day requires as much ability, indeed we may 
say genius, as to lead in any other department of life. He 
would have shown no more ignorance in the study, studio, 
and laboratory, than their occupants would have shown in 


20 


W//AT CAJV SHE DO ? 


the counting-room. That to which he devoted his energies 
he had become a master in. It is true he had narrowed 
down his life to little else than business. He had never 
acquired a taste for art and literature, nor had he given 
himself time for broad culture. But we meet narrow artists, | 
narrow clergymen, narrow scientists just as truly. If you do | 
not get on their hobby and ride with them, they seem dis- | 
posed to ride over you. Indeed, in our brief life with its 
fierce competitions, few other than what are known as one 
idea ” men have time to succeed. Even genius must drive 
with tremendous and concentrated energy, to distance com- 
petitors. Mr. Allen was quite as great in his department as 
any of the lions that his wife lured into her parlors were in 
theirs. i 

Mrs. Allen was also a leader in her own chosen sphere, or 
rather in the one to which she had been educated. Given 
carte-blanche in the way of expense, she would produce a 
brilliant entertainment which few could surpass. The color- 
ing and decorations of her rooms would not be more rich, 
varied, or in better taste, than the diversity, and yet harmony 
of the people she would bring together by her adroit selec- 
tions. She had studied society, and for it she lived, not to 
make it better, not to elevate its character, and tone down 
its extravagances, but simply to shine in it, to be talked 
about and envied. 

Both husband and wife had achieved no small success, 
and to succeed in such a city as New York in their chosen 
departments required a certain amount of genius. The 
savans had a general admiration for Mrs. Allen’s style and 
taste, but found that she had nothing to offer on the social 
exchange of her parlors but fashion’s smallest chit-chat. 
They had a certain respect for Mr. Allen’s wealth and busi- : 
ness power, but, having discussed the news of the day, they 
would pass on, and the people during the intervals of 


A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING. 


21 


dancing drifted into congenial schools and shoals, like fish 
in a lake. Mr. and Mrs. Allen had a vague admiration for 
the learning of the scholars and the culture of the artists, 
but would infinitely prefer marrying their daughters to down- 
town merchant princes. 

Take the world over, perhaps all classes of people are 
despising others quite as much as they are despised them- 
selves. 

But when the French cook appeared upon the scene, then 
was produced your true democracy. Then was shown a 
phase of life into which all entered with a zest that proved 
the common tie of humanity. 


WHAT CAN SHE DO f 


CHAPTER III. 


THREE MEN. 


HILE Mrs. Allen was planning the social pyrotechnics 



that should dazzle the fashionable world, Edith and 


Zell were working off their exuberant spirits in the manner 
described in the last chapter, which was as natural to their . 
city-bred feet as a wild romp is to a country girl. 

The brilliant notes of the piano and the rustle of their 
silks had rendered them oblivious to the fact that the door- ^ 
bell had rung twice, and that three gentlemen were peering / 
curiously through the half open door. They were evidently ^ 
frequent and favored visitors, and had motioned the old 
colored waiter not to announce them, and he reluctantly 
obeyed. i 

For a moment they feasted their eyes on the scene, as ^ 
the two girls, with twining arms and many innovations on 
the regular step, whirled tnrough the rooms, and then Zell’s 
quick eye detected them. 

Pouncing upon the eldest gentleman of the party, she 
dragged him from his ambush, while the others also entered. , 
The youngest approached the blushing, panting Edith with I 
an almost boyish confidence of manner, as if assured of a ■ 
welcome, while the remaining gentleman, who was verging 1 
toward middle age, quietly glided to the piano and gave his 9 
hand to Laura, who greeted him with a cordiality scarcely ■ 
to be expected from so stately a young lady. 9 

The laws of affinity and selection were evidently in force 9 


THREE MEN, 23 

here, and as the reader must surmise, long acquaintance had 
led to the present easy and intimate relations. 

“ What do you mean,” cried Zell, dragging under the gas- 
light her cavalier, who assumed much penitence and fear, 
“ by thus rudely and abruptly breaking in upon the retirement 
of three secluded young ladies?” 

“ At their devotions,” added the cynical voice of the gen- 
tleman at the piano, who was no other than Mr. Goulden, 
Laura’s admirer. 

Zell’s attendant threw himself in the attitude of a suppli- 
ant and said deprecatingly, — 

“ Nay, but we are astronomers.” 

“That’s a fib, and not a very white one either,” she 
retorted. “ I don’t believe you ever look towards heaven 
for anything.” 

“What need of looking thither for heavenly bodies?” he 
replied in a low, meaning tone, regarding with undisguised 
admiration her glowing cheeks. “ Moreover, I don’t like 
telescopic distances,” he continued, with a half-made motion 
to put his arm around her waist. 

“ Come,” she said, pirouetting out of his reach, “ remem- 
ber I am no longer a child,* I am seventeen to-day.” 

“ Would that you might never be a day older in appear- 
ance and feelings ! ” 

“ Are you willing to leave me so far behind ? ” she asked 
with some maliciousness. 

“ No, but you would make me a boy again. If old 
Ponce de Leon had met a Miss Zell, he would soon have 
forsaken the swamps and alligators of Florida.” 

“ Oh, what a watery, scaly compliment ! Preferred to 
swamps and alligators ! Who would have believed it ? ” 

“ I am not blind to your pretty, wilful blindness. You 
know I likened you to something too divine and precious tc 
be found on earth.” 


24 


IVHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


** Which is still true in the carrying out of your marvel- 
lously mixed metaphors. I must lend you my rhetoric book. 
But as your meaning dawns on me, I see that you are sym- 
bolized by old Ponce. I shall look in the history for the 
age of the ancient Spaniard to-morrow, and then I shall 
know how old you are, a thing I could never find out.” 

As with little jets of silvery laughter and with butterfly 
motion she hovered round him, the very embodiment of life 
and beautiful youth, she would have made, to an arti s eye, 
a very true realization of the far-famed mythical fountain. 

And yet, as a moment later she confidingly took his arm 
and strolled toward the library, it was evident that all her 
flutter and hesitancy, her seeming freedom and mimic show 
of war, were like those of some bright tropical bird fasci- 
nated by a remorseless serpent whose intent eyes and deadly 
purpose are creating a spell that cannot be resisted. 

Mr. Van Dam, upon whose arm she was leaning, was one 
of the worst products of artificial metropolitan life. He had 
inherited a name which ancestry had rendered honorable, 
but which he to the utmost dishonored, and yet so adroitly, 
so shrewdly respecting fashion’s code, though shunning 
nothing wrong, that he did not lose the entree of the gilded 
homes of those who called themselves “ the best society.” 

True, it was whispered that he was rather fast, that he 
played heavily and a trifle too successfully, and that he 
lived the life of anything but a saint at his luxurious rooms. 

But then,” continued society, openly and complacently, 
“ he is so fine-looking, so courtly and polished, so well con- 
nected, and what is still more to the point, my dear, he is 
reputed to be immensely wealthy, so we must not heed these 
rumors. After all, it is the way of these young men of the 
world.” 

Thus “ the best society ” that would have politely frozen 
out of its parlors the Chevalier Bayard, sans peur et sans 


THREE MEN, 


25 


rfproche, had he not appeared in the latest style, with golden 
fame rather than golden spurs, welcomed Mr. Van Dam. 
Indeed, not a few forced exotic belles, who had prematurely 
developed in the hot-house atmosphere of wealth and 
extravagance, regarded him as a sort of social lion ; and his 
reticence,- with a certain mystery in which he shrouded his 
evil life, made him all the more fascinating. He was past 
the prime of life, though exceedingly well preserved, for he 
was one of those cool, deliberate votaries of pleasure that 
reduce amusement to a science, and carefully shun all injuri- 
ous excess. While exceedingly deferential toward the sex 
in general, and bestowing compliments and attentions as 
adroitly as a financier would place his money, he at the same 
time permitted the impression to grow that he was extremely 
fastidious in his taste, and had never married because it had 
never been his fortune to meet the faultless being who could 
satisfy his exacting eyes. Any special and continued admi- 
ration on his part therefore made its recipient an object of 
distinction and envy to very many in the unreal world in 
which he glided serpent-like, rather than moved as a man. 
To morbid minds his rumored evil deeds became piquant 
eccentricities, and the whispers of the oriental orgies that 
were said to take place in his bachelor apartments made him 
an object of a curious interest, and many sighed for the 
opportunity of reforming so distinguished a sybarite. 

On Edith’s entrance into society he had been much 
impressed by her beauty, and had gradually grown quite 
attentive, equally attracted by her father’s wealth. But she, 
though with no clear perception of his character, and with 
no higher moral standard than that of her set, instinctively 
shrank from the man. Indeed, in some respects, they were 
too much alike for that mysterious attraction that so often 
occurs between opposites. Not that she had his unnatural 
depravity, but like him she was shrewd, practical, resolute. 


26 


WHA r CAN SHE DO ? 

and was controlled by her judgment rather than by her 
impulses. Her vanity, of which she had no little share, led 
her to accept his attentions to a certain point, but the keen 
man of the world soon saw that his “ little game,” as in his 
own vernacular he styled it, would not be successful, and he 
vas the last one to sigh in vain or mope an hour in love-lorn 
melancholy. While ceasing to press his suit, he continued 
to be a frequent and familiar visitor at the house, and thus 
his attention was drawn to Zell, who, though young, had 
developed early in the stimulating atmosphere in which she 
lived. At first he petted and played with her as a child, as 
she wilfully flitted in and out of the parlors, whether her 
sisters wanted her or not. He continually brought her bon- 
bons and like fanciful trifles, till at last, in jest, the family 
called him Zell’s “ ancient beau.” 

But during the past year it had dawned on him that the 
child he petted on account of her beauty and sprightliness, 
was rapidly becoming a brilliant woman, who would make a 
wife far more to his taste than her equally beautiful but 
matter-of-fact sister. Therefore he warily, so as not to 
alarm the jealous father, but with all the subtle skill of which 
he was master, sought to win her affections, knowing that 
she would have her own way when she knew what way she 
wanted. 

For Zell this unscrupulous man had a peculiar fascination. 
He petted and flattered her to her heart’s content, and thus 
made her the envy of her young acquaintances, which was 
incense indeed to her vain little soul. He never lectured or 
preached to her on account of her follies and nonsense, as 
her elderly friends usually did, but gave to her wild, impul- 
sive moods free rein. Where a true friend would have 
cautioned and curbed, he applauded and incited, causing 
Zell to mistake extravagance in language and boldness in 
manner for spirit and brilliancy. Laura and Edith often 


THREE MEH, 


27 


remonstrated with her, but she did not heed them. Indeed^ 
she feared no one save her father, and Mr. Van Dam was 
propriety itself when he was present, which was but seldom. 
What with his business and club, and Mrs. Allen’s nerves, 
the girls were left mainly to themselves. 

What wonder that there are so many shipwrecks, when 
young, heedless, inexperienced hands must steer, unguided, 
through the most perilous and treacherous of seas ? 

Mr. Allen’s elegant, costly home was literally an unguarded 
fold, many a laborer, living in a tenement house, doing more 
to shield his daughters from the evil of the world. 

To Mr. Van Dam, Zell was a perfect prize. Though he 
had sipped at the cup of pleasure so leisurely and systemat- 
ically, he was getting down to the dregs. His taste was 
becoming palled, and satiety was burdening him with its 
leaden weight. But as the child he petted developed daily 
toward womanhood, he became interested, then fascinated 
by the process. Her beauty was so brilliant, her excessive 
sprightliness so contagious, that he felt his sluggish pulses 
stir and tingle with excitement the moment he came into 
her presence. Her wild, varying moods kept him constantly 
on the qui vive, and he would say in confidence to one of 
his intimate cronies, — 

The point is, Hal, she is such a spicy, piquant contrast 
to the insipid society girls, who have no more individuality 
than fashion blocks in Broadway windows.” 

He liked the kittenish young creature all the more 
because her repartee was often a little cutting. If she had 
always struck him with a velvet paw, the thing would have 
grown monotonous, but he occasionally got a scratch that 
made him wince, cool and brazen as he was. But, after all, 
he daily saw that he was gaining power over her, and the 
manner in which the frank-hearted girl took his arm and 
leaned upon it spoke volumes to the experienced maa 


28 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


While he habitually wore a mask, Zell could conceal 
nothing, and across her April face flitted her innermost 
thoughts. 

If she had had a mother^ she might, even in the wilder- 
ness of earth, have become a blossom fit for heavenly gar- 
dens, but as it was, her wayward nature, so full of dangerous 
beauty, was left to run wild. 

Edith was beginning to be troubled at Zell’s intimacy with 
Mr. Van Dam, and to conceive a growing dislike for him 
mingled with suspicion.' As for Laura, the eldest, she was 
like her mother, too much wrapped up in herself to have 
many thoughts for any one else, and they all regarded Zell 
as a mere child still. Mr. Allen, who would have been very 
anxious had Zell been receiving the attentions of some 
penniless young clerk or artist, laughed at her “ flirtation 
with old Van Dam” as an eminently safe proceeding. 

But on the present evening her sisters were too much 
occupied with their own friends to give Zell or her danger- 
ous admirer much attention. As yet no formal engagement 
had bound any of them, but an intimacy and mutual liking, 
tending to such a result, was rapidly growing. 

In Edith’s case the attraction of contrasts was again 
shown. Augustus Elliot, the youth who had approached 
her with such confidence and grace, was quite as stylish a 
personage as herself, and that was saying a great deal. But 
every line of his full handsome face, as well as the expression 
of his light blue eyes, showed that he had less decision in 
tne whole of his luxurious nature than she in her little 
finger. Self-indulgence and good-natured vanity were un- 
mistakably his characteristics. To yield, not for the good of 
others, but because not strong enough to stand sturdily 
alone, was the law of his being. If he could ever have been 
kept under the influence of good and stronger natures, who 
would have developed his naturally kind heart and good 


THREE MEN, 


29 


impulses into something like principle, he might have had a 
safe and creditable career. But he was the idol of a foolish, 

! fashionable mother, and the pet of two or three sisters who 
were empty-brained enough to think their handsome brother 
; the perfection of mankind ; and by eye, manner, and often 
I the plainest words, they told him as much, and he had at 
; last come to believe them. Why should they not ? He was 
faultless in his own dress, faultless in his criticism of a 
lady’s dress, taking the prevailing fashion as the standard. 

, He was perfectly versed in the polite slang of the day. He 
scented afar off and announced the slightest change in the 
mode, so that his elegant sisters could appear on the avenue 
■ in advance of the other fashion-plates. As they sailed away 
on a sunny afternoon in their gorgeous plumage, the envy of 
many a competing belle, they would say, — 

“ Isn’t he a duck of a brother to give us a hint of a 
change so early ? After all there is no eye or taste like that 
of man when once perfected.” 

And then they knew him to be equally att fait on the 
“ flavor of wines, the points of horses, the merits of every 
watering-place, and all the other lore which in their world 
; gave pre-eminence. They had been educated to have no 
' other ideal of manhood, and if an earnest, straightforward 
• man, with a purpose, had spoken out before them, they 
would have regarded him as an uncouth monster. 

Notwithstanding all his vanity, “Gus,” as he was familiarly 
called, was a very weak man, and though he would not 
' acknowledge it, even to himself, instinctively recognized the 
’ fact. He continually attached himself to strong, resolute 
I natures, by whom, if they were adroit, he could easily be 
; made a tool of. He took a great fancy to Edith from the 
I first hour of their acquaintance, and she soon obtained a 
; strong influence over him. She instinctively detected his 
i yielding disposition, and liked him the better for it, while 


30 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


his good-nature and abundant supply of society talk made 
him a general favorite. 

When every one whispered, “ What a handsome couple 
they would make ! ” and she found him so looked up to and 
quoted in the fashionable world, she began to entertain 
quite an admiration as well as liking for him, though she saw 
more and more clearly that there was nothing in him that 
she could lean upon. 

Gus’s parents, who knew that the Allens were immensely 
wealthy, urged on the match, but Mr. Allen, aware that the 
Elliots were living to the extent of their means, discouraged 
it, plainly telling Edith his reasons. 

“ But,” said Edith, at the same time showing her heart in 
the practical suggestion, “ could not Gus go into business 
himself? ” 

‘‘ The worst thing he could do,” said the keen Mr. Allen. 

He has tried it a few times, I have learned, but has not 
one business qualification. He could not keep himself in 
tooth-picks. His mother and sisters have spoiled him. He 
is nothing but a society man. Mr. Elliot has not a word to 
say at home. His business is to make money for them 
to spend, and a tough time he has to keep up with them. 
You girls must marry men who can take care of you, unless 
you wish to support your husbands.” 

Mr. Allen’s verdict was true, and Edith felt that it was. 
When a boy, Gus could get out of lessons by running to his 
mother with the plea of headache or any trifle, and in 
youth he had escaped business in like manner. His father 
had tried him a few times in his office, but was soon glad to 
fall in with his wife’s opinion, that her son “ had too much 
spirit and refinement for plodding humdrum business, that 
he was a born gentleman and suited only to elegant lei- 
sure,” and as his gentleman son only did mischief down- 
town, the poor over-worked father was glad to have him 


THREE MEAT. 


out of the way, for he with difficulty made both ends meet, 
as it was. Hoping he would do better with strangers, he 
had, by personal influence, procured him situations else- 
where, but between the mother’s weakness and the young 
man’s confirmed habits of idleness, it always ended by Gus 
saying to his employers, — 

“I’m going off on a little trip — by-by,” at which they 
gave a sigh of relief. It had at last become a recognized 
fact that Gus must marry an heiress, this being about the 
only way for so fine a gentleman to achieve the fortune that 
he could not stoop to toil for. As he admired himself com- 
placently in the gilded mirror that ornamented his dressing- 
room, he felt that a wise selection would be his only 
difficulty, and though an heiress is something of a rara avis, 
he sternly resolved to cage one with such heavy golden plu- 
mage that even his mother, whom no one satisfied save him- 
self, would give a sigh of perfect content. When at last he 
met Edith Allen, it seemed as if inclination might happily 
blend with his lofty sense of duty, and he soon became 
Edith’s devoted and favored attendant. And yet, as we 
have seen, our heroine was not the sentimental style of girl 
that falls hopelessly and helplessly in love with a man for 
i some occult reason, not even known to herself, and who 

j mopes and pines till she is permitted to marry him, be he 

j fool, villain, or saint. Edith was fully capable of appre- 

[ dating and weighing her father’s words, and under their 

I influence nearly decided to chill her handsome but helpless 

: admirer into a mere passing acquaintance ; but when he 

next appeared before her in his uniform, as an officer in one 
of the “ crack ” city regiments, her eyes, taste, and vanity, 
and somehow her heart, so pleaded for him that, so far from 
being an icicle, she smiled on him like a July sun. 

But whenever he sought to press his suit into something 
definite, she evaded and shunned the point, as only a femi 


32 


WI/A T CAN SHE DO ? 


nine diplomatist can. In fact, Gus, on account of his vanity, 
was not a very urgent suitor, as the idea of final refusal was 
preposterous. He regarded himself as virtually accepted 
already. Meanwhile Edith for once in her life was playing 
the role of Micavvber, and “ waiting for something to turn 
up.” And something had, for this trip to Europe would put 
time and space between them, and gently cure both of their 
folly, as she deemed it. Folly ! She did not realize that 
Gus regarded himself as acting on sound business principles 
and a strong sense of duty, as well as obeying the impulses 
of what heart he had. The sweet approval of conscience 
and judgment attended his action, while both condemned 
her. 

As Gus approached this evening, she felt a pang of com- 
miseration that not only were they separated by her father’s 
and her own disapproval, but that soon the briny ocean 
would also be between them, and she was unusually kind. 
She decided to play with her poor little mouse till the last 
and then let absence remedy all. Her mind was quick, if 
not very profound. 

As Mr. Goulden leaned across the corner of the piano, 
and paid the blushing Laura some delicate compliments, 
one could not but think of an adroit financier, skilfully 
placing some money. There was nothing ardent, nothing 
incoherent and lover-like, in his carefully modulated tones, 
arid nicely selected words that meant much or little, as he 
might afterwards decide. Mr. Goulden always knew what 
he was about, as truly in a lady’s boudoir as in Wall Street. 
The stately, elegant Laura suited his tastes ; her father’s 
financial status had suited him also. But he, who through 
his agents knew all that was going on in Wall Street, was 
aware that Mr. Allen had engaged in a very heavy specula- 
tion, which, though promising well at the time, might, by 
some unexpected turn of the wheel, wear a very different 


THREE MEN, 


33 


aspect. He would see that game through before proceed- 
ing with his own, and in the mean time, by judicious atten- 
tion, hold Laura well in hand. 

In that brilliantly lighted parlor none of these currents 
and counter currents were apparent on the surface. That 
was like the ripple and sparkle of a summer sea in the sun- 
light. Every year teaches us something of what is hidden 
under the fair but treacherous seeming of life. 

The young ladies were now satisfied with the company 
they had, and the gentlemen, as can well be understood, 
wished no further additions. Therefore they agreed to 
retire to the library for a game of cards. 

“ Hann’bal,” said Edith, summoning the portentous col- 
ored butler who presided ' over the front door and dining- 
room, “ if any one calls, say we are out or engaged.” 

That solemn dignitary bowed as low as his stiff white 
collar would permit, but soliloquized, — 

“ I guess I is sumpen too black to tell a white lie, so I’se 
say dey is engaged.” 

As the ladies swept away, leaning heavily on the arms of 
their favored gallants, he added, with a slight grin illumining 
the gravity of his face, “ It looks mighty like it.” 


34 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE SKIES DARKENING. 


T he game of cards fared indifferently, for they were all 
too intent on little games of their own to give close 


attention. Mr. Van Dam won when he chose, and gave the 
game away when he chose, but made Zell think the skill was 
mainly hers. 

Still, in’ common parlance, they had a “good time.” 
From such clever men the jests and compliments were rather 
better than the average, and repartee from the ruby lips that 
smiled upon them could not seem other than brilliant. 

Edith soon added to the sources of enjoyment by order- 
ing cake and wine, for though not the eldest she seemed 
naturally to take the lead. 

Mr. Goulden drank sparingly. He meant that not a film 
should come across his judgment. Mr. Van Dam drank 
freely, but he was seasoned to more fiery potations than 
sherry. Not so poor Gus, who, while he could never resist 
the wine, soon felt its influence. But he had sufficient con- 
trol never to go beyond the point of tipsiness that fashion 
allows in the drawing-room. 

Of course through Zell’s unrestrained chatter the recently 
made plans soon came out. 

Adroit Mr. Van Dam turned to Zell with an expression of 
much pleased surprise exclaiming, — 

“ How fortunate lam! I had completed my plans to go 
abroad some little time since.” 


THE SKIES DARKENING, 35 

Zell clapped her hands with delight, but an involuntary 
shadow darkened Edith’s face. 

Gus looked nonplussed. He knew that his father and 
mother with difficulty kept pace with his home expenses 
and that a Continental tour was impossible for him. Mr. 
Goulden looked a little thoughtful, as if a new element had 
entered into the problem. 

“ Oh, come,” laughed Zell. Let us all be good, and go 
on a pilgrimage together to Paris — I mean Jerusalem.” 

“ I will worship devoutly with you at either shrine,” said 
Mr. Van Dam. 

“ And with equal sincerity, I suppose,” said Edith, rather 
coldly. 

“ I sadly fear. Miss Edith, that my sincerity will not be 
superior to that of the other devotees,” was the keen retort, 
in blandest tones. 

Edith bit her lip, but said gayly, “ Count me out of your 
pilgrim band. I want no shrine with relics of the past. I 
wish no incense rising about me obscuring the view. I like 
the present, and wish to see what is beyond.” 

“ But suppose you are both shrine and divinity yourself? ” 
said Gus, with what he meant for a killing look. 

Do you mean that compliment for me?” asked Edith, 
all sweetness. 

Between wine and love Gus was inclined to be senti- 
mental, and so in a low, meaning tone answered, — 

“ Who more deserving? ” 

Edith’s eyes twinkled a moment, but with a half sigh she 
replied, — 

“ I fear you read my character rightly. A shrine suggests 
many offerings, and a divinity many worshippers.” 

Zell laughed outright, and said, “In that respect all women 
j would be shrines and divinities if they could.” 

Van Dam and Goulden could not suppress a smile at the 


IVI/A T CAN SflE DO ? 


36 

unfortunate issue of Elliot’s sentiment, while the latter glanced 
keenly to see how much truth was hinted in the badinage. 

“ For my part,” said Laura, looking fixedly at nothing, “ I 
would rather have one true devotee than a thousand pilgrims 
who were gushing at every shrine they met.” 

“ Brava ! ” cried Mr. Goulden. “ That was the keenest 
arrow yet flown ; ” for the other two men were notorious 
flirts. 

“ I do not think so. Its point was much too broad,” said 
Zell, with a meaning look at Mr. Goulden, that brought a 
faint color into his imperturbable face, and an angry flush to 
Laura’s. 

A disconcerted manner had shown that even Gus’s vanity 
had not been impervious to Edith’s barb, but he had now- 
recovered himself, and ventured again, — 

“ I would have my divinity a patron saint sufficiently 
human to pity human weakness, and so come at last to 
listen to no other prayer than mine.” 

“ Surely, Mr. Elliot, you would wish your saint to listen 
for some other reason than your weakness only,” said Edith. 

“ Come, ladies and gentlemen, I ipove this party breaks up, 
or some one will get hurt,” said Gus, with a half-vexed laugh. 

‘‘What is the matter?” asked Edith innocently. 

“Yes,” echoed Zell, rising, “what is the matter you, 
Mr. Van Dam? Are you asleep, that you are so quiet? ^ 
Tell us about your divinity.” 

“ I am an astronomer and fire-worshipper, somewhat ' 
dazzled at present by the nearness and brilliancy of my '■ 
bright luminary.” 

“ Nonsense ! your sight is failing, and you have mistaken 
a will-o’-the-wisp for the sun. ^ 

‘ Dancing here, dancing there, 1 

Catch it if you can and dare,*** * 

and she flitted away before him.. 


THE SKIES DARKENING. 


37 


He followed with his intent eyes and graceful, serpent-like 
gliding, knowing her to be under a spell that would soon 
bring her fluttering back. 

After circling round him a few moments she took his arm 
and he commenced breathing into her ear the poison of his 
passion. 

No woman could remain the same after being with Mf. 
Van Dam. Out of the evil abundance of his heart he spoke, 
but the venom of his words and manner were all the more 
deadly because so subtle, so minutely and delicately distrib- 
uted, that it was like a pestilential atmosphere, in which 
truth and purity withered. 

No parent should permit to his daughters the companion- 
ship of a flioroughly bad man, whatever his social standing. 
His very tone and glance are unconsciously demoralizing, 
and, even if he tries, he cannot prevent the bitter waters 
overflowing from their bad source, his heart. 

Mr. Van Dam did not try. He meant to secure Zell, with 
or without her father’s approval, believing that when the 
marriage was once consummated Mr. Allen’s consent and 
money would follow eventually. 

For some little time longer the young ladies and their 
favored attendants strolled about the rooms in quiet tete-d- 
tete, and then the gentlemen bowed themselves out. 

The door-bell had rung several times during the evening, 
but Hannibal, with the solemnity of a funeral, had quenched 
each comer by saying with the decision of the voice of 
fate, — 

De ladies am engaged, sah,” and no Cerberus at the 
door, or mailed warder of the middle ages, could have 
proved such an effectual barrier against all intruders as this 
old negro in his white waistcoat and stiff necktie, backed by 
the usage of modern society. Indeed, in some respects he 
was a greater potentate than old King Canute, for he could 


38 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


say to the human passions, inclinations, and desires that 
surged up to Mr. Allen’s front door, “ Thus far and no 
farther.” 

But upon this evening there was a caller who looked with 
cool, undaunted eyes upon the stiff necktie and solemn vis- 
age rising above it, and to Hannibal’s reiterated statement, 
“ Dey am engaged,” replied in a quiet tone of command, — 

‘‘Take that card to Miss Edith.” 

Even Hannibal’s sovereignty broke down before this per- 
sistent, imperturbable visitor, and scratching his head with a 
perplexed grin he half soliloquized, half replied, — 

“ Miss Edith mighty ’ticlar to hab her orders obeyed.” 

“ I am the best judge in this case,” was the decisive re- 
sponse. “ You take the card and I will be responsible.” » 

Hannibal came to the conclusion that for some occult 
reason the gentleman, who was well known to him, had a 
right to pronounce the “ open sesame ” where the portal had 
remained closed to all others, and, being a diplomatist, re- 
solved to know more fully the quarter of the wind before 
assuming’ too much. But his state-craft was sorely puzzled 
to know why one of Mr. Allen’s under-clerks should suddenly 
appear in the role of social caller upon the young ladies, for 
Mr. Fox, the gentleman in question, ostensibly had no higher 
position. His appearance and manner indicated a mystery. 
Old Hannibal’s wool had not grown white for nothing, and 
he was the last man in the world to go through a mystery as 
a blundering bumblebee would through a spider’s web. He 
was for leaving the web all intact till hs knew who spun it 
and whom it was to catch. If it was Mr. Allen’s work or 
Miss Edith’s, it must stand ; if not, he could play bumblebee 
with a vengeance, and carry oif the gossamer of intrigue with 
one sweep. 

So, showing Mr. Fox into a small reception room, he made\ 
his way to the library door with a motion that would have 


THE SKIES DARKENING. 


39 

i: reminded you of a great, stealthy cat, and called in a loud, 
I impressive whisper, — 

Miss Edith ! ” 

Edith at once rose and went to him, knowing that her 
I prime minister had some important question of state to 
present when summoning her in that tone. 

Screened by the library door, Hannibal commenced in ? 
i deprecating way, — 

“ I told Mr. Fox you’se engaged, but he say I must give 
you dis card. He kinder acted as if he own dis niggar and 
de whole establishment.” 

J A sudden heavy frown drew Edith’s dark eyebrows together 
and she said loud enough for Mr. Fox in his ambush to 
hear, — 

Was there ever such impudence ! ” and straightway the 
frown passed to the listener, intensified, like a flying cloud 
darkening one spot now and another a moment later. 

I “Return the card, and say I am engaged,” she said 
haughtily. “ Stay,” she added thoughtfully. “ Perhaps he 
wished to see papa, or there is some important business mat- 
ter which needs immediate attention. If not, dismiss him,” 
and Edith returned to the library quite as much puzzled as 
Hannibal had been. Two or three times recently she had 
found Mr. Fox’s card on returning from evenings out. Why 
had he called ? She had only a cool, bowing acquaintance 
with him, formed by his coming occasionally to see her father 
on business, and her father had not thought it worth while to 
formally introduce Mr. Fox to any of his family at such times, 
but had treated him as a sort of upper servant. He certainly 
was putting on strange airs, as her old grand-vizier had inti- 
mated. But in the game of cards, and her other little game 
with Gus, she soon forgot his existence. 

Meantime Hannibal, reassured, was regal again, and 
marched down the marble hall with something like the feel- 


40 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


ing and bearing of his great namesake. If there were a web 
here, the Allens were not spinning it, and he owed Mr. Fox 
nothing but a slight grudge for his “ airs.” 

Therefore with the manner of one feeling himself master 
of the situation he said, — 

Hab you a message for Mr. Allen ? ” 

“ No,” replied Mr. Fox quietly. 

“ Den I tell you again Miss Edith am engaged.” 

Looking straight into Hannibal’s eyes, without a muscle 
changing in his impassive face, Mr. Fox said in the steady 
tone of command, — 

“ Say to Miss Edith I will call again,” and he passed out 
of the door as if he were master of the situation. 

Hannibal rolled up his eyes till nothing but the whites 
were seen, and muttered, — 

“ Brass ain’t no name for it.” 

Mr. Fox’s action can soon be explained. Mr. Allen, 
while accustomed to operate largely in Wall Street through 
his brokers, was also the head of a cloth-importing firm. 
This in fact had been his regular and legitimate business, 
but like so many others he had been drawn into the vortex 
of speculation, and after many lucky hits had acquired that 
overweening confidence that prepares the way for a fail. He 
came to believe that he had only to put his hand to a thing 
to give it the needful impulse to success. In his larger and 
more exciting operations in Wall Street he had left the cloth 
business mainly to his junior partners and dependants, they 
employing his capital. Mr. Fox was merely a clerk in this 
establishment, and not in very high standing either. He 
was also another unwholesome product of metropolitan life. 
As office boy among the lawyers, as a hanger-on of the crim- 
inal courts, he had scrambled into a certain kind of legal 
knowledge and had gained a small pettifogging practice 
when an opening in Mr. Allen’s business led to his present 


THE SKIES DARKENING. 


4 ^ 


I connection. Mr. Allen felt that in his varied and extended 
business he needed a man of Mr. Fox’s stamp to deal with 
the legal questions that came up, look after the intricac’es 
of the revenue laws, and manage the immaculate saints 
of the custom-house. As far as the firm had dirty, disa- 
greeable, perplexing work to do, Mr. Fox was to do it. 
Whenever it came in contact with the majesty (?) of the 
law and government, Mr. Fox was to represent it. When- 
ever some Israelite in whom was guile sought, on varied 
pretext, to wriggle out of the whole or part of a bill, the 
wary Mr. Fox met him on his own plane and with his own 
weapons, skirmished with him, and won the little fight. 

I would not for a moment give the impression that Mr. 
, Allen was in favor of sharp practice. He merely wished to 
conduct his business on the business principles and practice 
of the day, and it was not his purpose, and certainly not 
his policy, to pass beyond the law. But even the judges 
1 disagree as to what the law is, and he was dealing with 
many who thrived by evading it ; therefore the need of a 
nimble Mr. Fox who could burrow and double on his tracks 
with the best ol them. All went well for years, and the firm 
was saved many an annoyance, many a loss, and if this 
i guerilla of the house, as perhaps we may term him, had 
been as devoted tc Mr. Allen’s interests as to his own, all 
might have gone well to the end. But these very sharp 
! tools are apt to cut both ways, and so it turned out in this 
! case. The astute Mr. Fox determined to serve Mr. Allen 
I faithfully as long as he could faithfully and pre-eminently 
!: serve himself. If he who had scrambled from the streets 
to his present place of power could reach a higher position 
by stepping on the great rich merchant, such power would 
have additional satisfaction. He was as keen-scented after 
money as Mr. Allen, only the latter hunted like a lion, and 
the former like a fox. He mastered Mr. Allen’s business 


42 


WHA T CAN SHE DO t 


thoroughly in all its details. Until recently no opportunity 
had occurred save work which though useful, caused him 
to be half-despised by the others who would not or could 
not do it. But of late he had gained a strong vantage 
point. He watched with intense interest Mr. Allen’s attrao 
!un toward, and entrance upon, a speculation that he kne\> 
to be as uncertain of issue as it was large in proportions, for, 
if the case ever became critical, he was conscious of the 
power of introducing a very important element into the 
problem. 

In his care of the custom-house business he had discov- 
ered technical violations of the revenue laws which already 
involved the loss to the firm of a million dollars, and, with 
his peculiar loyalty to himself, thought this knowledge ought 
to be worth a great deal. As Mr. Allen went down into the 
deep waters of Wall Street, he saw that it might be. In 
saving his employer from wreck he might virtually become 
captain of the ship. 

After this brief delineation of character, it would strike 
the reader as very incongruous to say that Mr. Fox had 
fallen in love with Edith. Mr. Fox never stumbled or fell. 
He could slide down and scramble up to any extent, and 
when cornered could take a flying leap like that of a cat. But 
he had been greatly impressed by Edith’s beauty, and to win 
her also would be an additional and piquant feature in the 
game. He had absolute confidence in money, much of 
which he might have, gained from Mr. Allen himself. He 
knew a million of her father’s money was in his power, and 
this, in a certain sense, placed him in the position of a suitor 
worth a million, and such he knew to be almost omnipotent 
on the avenue. If this money could also be the means of 
causing Mr. Allen’s ruin, or saving him from it, he believed 
that Edith would be his as truly as the bonds and certificates 
of stock that he often counted and gloated over. Even 


THE SHIES DARHENIHG. 


43 


before Mr. Allen entered on what he called his great and 
final operation for the present, Mr. Fox was half inclined to 
show his hand and make the most of it, but within the last 
^ few days he had learned that perhaps a greater opportunity 
was opening before him. Meantime in the full conscious- 
ness of power he had begun to call on Edith, as we have 
seen, something as a cat plays around and watches a caged 
bird, which it expects to have in its claws before long. 

The next morning at breakfast Edith mentioned Mr. 
Fox’s recent calls. 

“ What is he coming here for? ” growled Mr. Allen, look- 
ing with a frown at his daughter. 

“ Fm sure I don’t know.” 

“ I hope you don’t see him.” 

“ Certainly not. I was out the first two times, and last 
night sent word that I was engaged. But he insisted on 
his card being given to me and put on airs generally, so 
Hannibal seems to think.” 

That dignitary gave a confirming and indignant grunt. 

“He said he would call again, didn’t he, Hannibal? ” 

“Yes’m,” blurted Hannibal, “and he looked as if de next 
I time he’d put us all in his breeches pocket and carry us 
I off.” 

“What’s Fox up to now?” muttered Mr. Allen, knitting 
his brows. “ I must look into this.” 

But even within a few hours the cloud land of Wall 
Street had changed some of its aspects. The serenity of 
the preceding day was giving place to indications of a dis- 
turbance in the financial atmosphere. He had to buy more 
stock to keep the control he was gaining on the market, and 
things were not shaping favorably for its rise. He was 
already carrying a tremendous load, and even his Herculean 
shoulders began to feel the burden. In the press and rush 
I of business he forgot about Fox’s social ambition in ventur' 


44 


WHA T CAN SHE DO f 


ing to call where such men as Van Dam and Gus Elliot had 
undisputed rights. 

Those upon whom society lays its hands are orthodox of 
course. 

The wary Fox was watching the stock market as closely 
as Mr. Allen, and chuckled over the aspect of affairs ; and 
he concluded to keep quietly out of the way a little longer, 
and await further developments. 

Things moved rapidly as they usually do in the maelstrom 
of speculation. Though Mr. Allen was a trained athlete in 
business, the strain upon him grew greater day by day. But 
true to his promise, and in accordance with his habit of 
promptness, he transferred the deed for the little place in 
the country to Edith, who gloated over its dry technical- 
ities as if they were full of romantic hope and suggestion 
to her. 

One day when alone with Laura, Mr. Allen asked her 
suddenly, — 

“ Has Mr. Goulden made any formal proposal yet?” 

With rising color Laura answered, — 

No.” 

‘‘Why not? He seems very slow about it.” 

“ 1 hardly know how you expect me to reply to such a 
question,” said Laura, a little haughtily. 

“ Is he as attentive as ever? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose so, though he has not called quite so 
often of late.” 

“ Humph ! ” ejaculated Mr. Allen meditatively, adding 
after a moment, “Can’t you make him speak out?” 

“You certainly don’t mean me to propose to him?” 
asked Laura, reddening. 

“ No, no, no ! ” said her father with some irritation, “ but 
any clever woman can make a man who has gone as far as 
Mr. Goulden commit himself whenever she chooses. Your 


THE SKIES DARKENING. 


45 


mother would have had the thing settled long ago, or else 
would have enjoyed the pleasure of refusing him.” 

“ I am not mistress of that kind of finesse,” said Laura 
coldly. 

You are a woman,” replied her father coolly, “and don’t 
need any lessons. It would be well for us both if you would 
exert your native power in this case.” 

Laura glanced keenly at her father and asked quickly, — 

“ What do you mean?” 

“Just what I say. A word to the wise is sufficient.” 

Having thus indicated to his daughter that phase of 
Wall Street tactics and principles that could be developed 
on the avenue, he took himself off to the central point of 
operations. 


46 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER V. 


THE STORM THREATENING. 


AURA had a better motive than that suggested by her 



father for wishing to lead Mr. Goulden to commit him- 
self, for as far as she could love any one beyond herself she 
loved him, and she also realized fully that he could continue 
to her all that her elegant and expensive tastes craved. 
Notwithstanding her show of maidenly pride and reserve, 
she was ready enough to do as she had been bidden. Mr. 
Allen guessed as much. Indeed, as was quite natural, his 
wife was the type of the average woman to his mind, only 
he believed that she was a little cleverer in these matters 
than the majority. The manner in which she had “ hooked ” 
him made a deep and lasting impression on his memory. 

But Mr. Goulden was a wary fish. He had no objection 
to being hooked if the conditions were all right, and until 
satisfied as to these he would play around at a safe distance. 
As he saw Mr. Allen daily getting into deeper water, he 
grew more cautious. His calls were not quite so frequent. 
He managed never to be with Laura except in company 
with others, and while his manner was very complimentary 
it was never exactly lover-like. Therefore, all Laura’s femi- 
nine diplomacy was in vain, and that which a woman can 
say frankly the moment a man speaks, she could scarcely 
hint. Moreover, Mr. Goulden was adroit enough to chill 
her heart while he flattered her vanity. There was some- 
thing about his manner she could not understand, but 


THE STORM THREATENING. 4 / 

• 

it was impossible to take offence at the polished gentle- 
man. 

Her father understood him better. He saw that Mr. 
Goulden had resolved to settle the question on financial 
principles only. 

As the chances diminished of securing him indirectly 
through Laura as a prop to his tottering fortunes, he at last 
came to the conclusion to try to interest him directly in his 
speculation, feeling sure if he could control only a part of 
Mr. Goulden’s large means and credit, he could carry his 
operation through successfully. 

Mr. Goulden warily listened to the scheme, warily weighed 
it, and concluded within the brief compass of Mr. Allen’s 
explanation to have nothing to do with it. But his outward 
manner was all deference and courteous attention. 

At the end of Mr. Allen’s rather eager and rose-colored 
statements, he replied in politest and most regretful tones 
that he “ was very sorry he could not avail himself of so 
promising an opening, but in fact, he was ^ in deep ’ himself 
— carrying all he could stand up under very well, and was 
rather in the borrowing than in the lending line at present.” 

Keen Mr. Allen saw through all this in a moment, and his 
face flushed angrily in spite of his efforts at self-control. 
Muttering something to the effect, — 

“ I thought I would give you a chance to make a good 
thing,” he bade a rather abrupt “good morning.” 

As the pressure grew heavier upon him he was led to do 
a thing the suggestion of which a few weeks previously he 
would have regarded as an insult. Mrs. Allen had a snug 
[■ little property of her own, which had been secured to her 
on first mortgages, and in bonds that were quiet and safe. 
These her husband held in trust for her, and now pledged 
them as collateral on which to borrow money to carry 
\ through his gigantic operation. In respect to part of this 


48 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


transaction, Mrs. Allen was obliged to sign a paper which 
might have revealed to her the danger involved, but she 
languidly took the pen, yawned, and signed away the result 
of her father’s long years of toil without reading a line. 

There,” she said, “ I hope you will not bother me about 
business again. Now in regard to this party” — and she 
was about to enter into an eager discussion of all the com- 
plicated details, when her husband, interrupting, said, — 

“ Another time, my dear — I am very much pressed by 
'business at present.” 

Oh, business, nothing but business,” whined his wife. 
“ You never have time to attend to me or your family.” 

But Mr. Allen was out of hearing of the querulous tones 
before the sentence was finished. 

Of course he never meant that his wife should lose a 
cent, and to satisfy his conscience, and impressed by his 
danger, he resolved that as soon as he was out of this quak- 
ing morass of speculation he would settle on his wife and 
each daughter enough to secure them in wealth through life 
and arrange it in such a way that no one’ could touch the 
principal. 

The large sum that he now secured eased up matters and 
helped him greatly, and affairs began to wear a brightening 
aspect. He felt sure that the stock he had invested in was 
destined to rise in time, and indeed it already gave evidences 
of buoyancy. He noticed with an inward chuckle that Mr. 
Goulden began to call a little oftener. He was the best 
financial barometer in Wall Street. 

But the case would require the most adroit and delicate 
management for weeks still, and this Mr. Allen could have 
given. Success also depended on a favorable state of the 
money market, and a good degree of stability and quietness 
throughout the financial world. Political changes in Europe, 
a war in Asia, heavy failures in Liverpool, London, or Paris. 


THE STORM THREATENING. 


49 


might easily spoil all. Reducing Mr. Allen’s vast compli- 
cated operation to its final analysis, he had simply bet 
several millions — all he had — that nothing would happen 
throughout the world that could interfere with a scheme so 
problematical that the chances could scarcely be called even. 

But gambling is occasionally successful, and it began to 
look as if Mr. Allen would win his bet ; and so he might 
had nothing happened. The world was quiet enough, 
remarkably quiet, considering the superabundance of explo- 
sive elements everywhere. 

The financial centres seethed on as usual, like a witch’s 
cauldron, but there were no infernal ebullitions in the form 
of “ Black Fridays.” The storm that threatened to wreck 
Mr. Allen was no wide, sweeping tempest, but rather one of 
those little local whirlwinds that sometimes in the west 
destroy a farm or township. 

For the last few weeks Mr. Fox had quietly watched the 
game, matured his plans, and secured his proof in the best 
legal form. He now concluded it was time to act, as he 
believed Mr. Allen to be in his power. So one morning he 
coolly walked into that gentleman’s office, closed the door, 
and took a seat. Mr. Allen looked up with an expression of 
surprise and annoyance on his face. He instinctively dis- 
liked Mr. Fox, as a lion might be irritated by a cat, and the 
instinctive enmity was all the stronger because of a certain 
family likeness. But Mr. Allen’s astuteness had nothing 
mean or cringing in it, while Mr. Fox heretofore had been a 
sort of Uriah Heep to him. Therefore his surprise and 
annoyance at his new role of cool confidence. 

“ Well, sir,” said he, rather impatiently, returning to his 
writing, as a broad hint that communications must be brief 
if made at all. 

“ Mr. Allen,” said Mr. Fox, in that clear-cut decisive tone, 
that betokens resolute purpose, and a little anger also, “ I 


50 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


must request you to give me your undivided attention for a 
little time, and surely what I am about to say is important 
enough to make it worth the while.” 

Though Mr. Allen flushed angrily, he knew that his clerk 
would not employ such a tone and manner without reason, 
so he raised his head and looked steadily at his unwelcome 
visitor and again said briefly, — 

^‘Well, sir?” 

“ I wish, in the first place,” said Mr. Fox, thinking to 
begin with the least important exaction, and gradually reach 
a climax in his extortien, I wish permission to pay my 
addresses to your daughter Miss Edith.” 

Knowing nothing of a father’s pride and affection, he had 
unwittingly brought in the climax first. 

The angry flush deepened on Mr. Allen’s face, but he still 
managed to control himself, and to remember that the father 
of three pretty daughters must expect some scenes like these, 
and that the only thing to do was to get rid of the objec- 
tionable suitors as civilly as possible. He was also too much 
of an American to put on any of the high-stepping airs of 
the European aristocracy. Here it is simply one sovereign 
proposing for the daughter of another, and generally the 
young people practically arrange it all before asking any 
consent in the case. After all, Mr. Fox had only paid his 
daughter the highest compliment in his power, and if any 
other of his clerks had made a similar request he would 
probably have given as kind and delicate a refusal as possible. 
It was because he disliked Mr. Fox, and instinctively gauged 
his character, that he said with a short, dry laugh, — 

Come, Mr. Fox, you are forgetting yourself. You have 
been a useful employee in my store. If you feel that you 
should have more salary, name what will satisfy you, and I 
will consult my partners, and try and arrange it.” “ There,” 
thought he, “ if he can’t take that hint as to his place, I shall 


THE STORM THREATENING. 5 I 

have to give him a kick.” But both surprise and anger 
began to get the better of him when Mr. Fox replied, — 
i “ I must really beg your closer attention ; I said nothing 
! of increased salary. You will soon see that is no object 
with me now. I asked your permission to pay my addresses 
to your daughter.” 

“ I decline to give it,” said Mr. Allen, harshly, “ and if I 
hear any more of this nonsense I will discharge you from 
1 my employ.” 

“Why?” was the quiet response, yet spoken with the 
intensity of passion. 

, “ Because I never would permit my daughter to marry a 

man in your circurnstances, and, if you will have it, you are 
not the style of a man I would wish to take into my family.” 

“If a man who was worth a million asked for your 
daughter’s hand, would you answer him in this manner? ” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Mr. Allen, with another of his short, 
dry laughs, which expressed little save irritation, “ but you 
have my answer as respects yourself.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” was the bold retort. “ I am 
practically worth a million — indeed several millions to you, 
’ as you are now situated. You have talked long enough in 
the dark, Mr. Allen. For some time back there have been 
1 in your importations violations of the revenue laws. I have 
only to give the facts in my possession to the proper author- 
ities and the government would legally claim from you a 
million of dollars, of which I should get half. So you see 
that I am positively worth five hundred thousand, and to 
you I am worth a million with respect to this item alone.” 

Mr. Allen sprang excitedly to his feet. Mr. Fox coolly 
got up and edged toward the door, which he had purposely 
left unlatched. 

“ Moreover,” continued Mr. Fox, in his hard metallic 
voice, “in view of your other operations in Wall Street. 


52 


r CAN SHE DO * 

which I know all about, the loss of a million would involv’’e 
the loss of all you have.” 

Mr. Fox now had his hand on the door-knob, and Mr. 
Allen was glaring at him as if purposing to rush upon him 
and rend him to pieces. 

Standing in the passage-way, Mr. Fox concluded, in a low, 
meaning tone, — 

“ You had better make terms with me within twenty-four 
hours.” 

And the door closed sharply, reminding one of the shut- 
ting of a steel trap. 

Mr. Allen sank suddenly back in his chair and stared at 
the closed door, looking as if he were a prisoner and all 
escape cut off. 

He seemed to be in a lethargy or under a partial paraly- 
sis ; he slowly and weakly rubbed his head with his hand, as 
if vaguely conscious that the trouble was there. 

Gradually the stupor began to pass off, his blood to circu- 
late, and his mind to realize the situation. 

Rising feebly, as if a sudden age had fallen on him, he 
went to the door and gave orders that he must not be dis- 
turbed, and then sat down to think. Half an hour later he 
sent for his lawyer, stated the case to him, enjoined secrecy, 
and asked him to see Fox, hoping that it might be a case of 
mere black-mailing bravado. Keen as Mr. Allen’s lawyer 
was, he had more than his match in the astute Mr. Fox. 
Moreover the latter had every thing in his favor. There 
had been a slight infringement of the revenue laws, and 
though involving but small loss to the government, the con- 
sequences were the same. The invoice would be confiscated 
as soon as the facts were known. Mr. Fox had secured 
ample proof of this. 

Mr. Allen might be able to prove that there was no 
intention to violate the law, as indeed there had not been. 


THE STORM THREATENING, 


53 


In fact, he had left those matters to his subordinates, and 
they had been a little careless, averaging matters, contenting 
themselves with complying with the general intent of the law, 
rather than, with painstaking care, conforming to its letter. 
But the law is very matter-of-fact, and can be excessively 
literal when money is to be made by those who live by 
enforcing or evading it, as may suit them. Mr. Fox could 
carry his case, if he pressed it, and secure his share of the 
plunder. On account of a very slight loss, Mr. Allen might 
be compelled to lose a million. 

Before the day’s decline the lawyer had asked Mr. Fox to 
take no further steps, stating vaguely that Mr. Allen would 
look into the matter, and would not be unreasonable. 

A sardonic grin gave a momentary lurid hue to Mr. Fox’s 
sallow face. Knowing the game to be in his own hands, he 
could quietly bide his time ; so, assuming a tone of much 
moderation and dignity, he replied, he had no wish to be 
hard, and could be reasonable also. “ But,” added he, in a 
meaning tone, “ there must be no double work in this matter. 
Mr. Allen must see what I am worth to him — nothing 
could be plainer. His best policy now is to act promptly 
and liberally toward me, for I pledge you my word that if I 
see any disposition to evade my requirements I will blow out 
the bottom of every thing,” and a snaky glitter in his small 
black eyes showed how remorselessly he could scuttle the 
ship bearing Mr. Allen’s fortunes. 

A speedy investigation showed Mr. Fox’s fatal power, and 
Mr. Allen’s partners were for paying him off, but when they 
found that he exacted an interest in the business that quite 
threw them into the background, they were indignant and 
inclined to fight it out. Mr. Allen could not tell them that 
he was in no condition to fight. If his financial status had 
beeir the same as some weeks previously, he would rathei 
have lost the million than have listened one naoment to Mr. 


54 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Fox’s repulsive conditions, but now to risk litigation and 
commercial reputation on one hand, and total ruin on the 
other, was an abyss from which he shrank back appalled. 

His only resource was to temporize, both with his partners 
and Mr. Fox, and so gain time, hoping that the Wall Street 
scheme, that had caused so much evil, might also cure it. 
Of course he could not tell his partners how he was situated. 
The slightest breath of suspicion might cause the evenly 
balanced scales in which hung all chances to hopelessly 
decline. The speculation now promised well. 

If he could only keep things quiet a little longer — 

Edith must help him. Calling her into the library after 
dinner, he asked, — 

“ Has Mr. Fox called lately? ” 

“ No, sir, not for some little time.” 

“ Will you oblige me by seeing him and being civil if he 
calls again?” 

“Why, papa, I thought you did not wish me to see 
him.” 

“ Circumstances have altered since then. Is he very 
disagreeable to you ? ” 

“ Well, papa, I have scarcely thought of him, but to telT 
you the truth when he has been here on business I hav^ 
involuntarily thought of a mousing cat, or the animal he is 
named after on the scent of a hen-roost. But of course I 
can be civil or even polite to him if you wish it.” 

A spasm of pain crossed her father’s face and he put his 
hand hastily to his head, a frequent act of late. He rose 
and took a few turns up and down the room, muttering, — 

“ Curse it all, I must tell her. Half knowledge is always 
dangerous, and is sure to lead to blunders, and there must 
be no blunders now.” 

Stopping abruptly before his daughter, he said, “ He has 
proposed for your hand.” 


*2 HE STORM THREATENING, 55 

An expression of disgust flitted across Edith’s face, and 
she replied quickly, — 

“ We both have surely but one answer to such a proposi- 
tion from him"^ 

“ Edith, you seem to have more sense in regard to busi- 
ness and such matters than most young ladies. I must now 
test you, and it is for you to show whether you are a woman 
or a shallow-brained girl. I am sorry to tell you these 
things. They are not suited to your age or sex, but there is 
no help for it,” and he explained how he was situated. 

Edith listened with paling cheek, dilating eyes, and part- 
ing lips, but still with rising courage and a growing purpose 
to help her father. 

“ I do not wish you to marry this villain,” he continued. 
“Heaven forbid!” (Not that Mr. Allen referred this or 
any other matter to Heaven ; it was only a strong way of 
expressing his own disapproval.) “But we must manage 
to temporize and keep this man at bay till I can extricate 
myself from my difficulties. As soon as I stand on firm 
ground I will defy him.” 

To Edith, with her standard of morality, the course indi- 
cated by her father seemed eminently filial and praiseworthy. 
The thought of marrying Mr. Fox made her flesh creep, but 
a brief flirtation was another affair. She had flirted not a 
little in her day for the mere amusement of the thing, and 
with the motives her father had presented she could do it 
in this case as if it were an act of devotion. Of the pure 
and lofty morality of the Bible she .had as little idea as a 
Persian houri, and rugged Roman virtue could not develop 
in the social atmosphere in which the Allens lived. It was 
with u clear conscience that she resolved to beguile Mr. Fox, 
and signified as much to her father. 

“ Play him off,” said this model father, “ as Mr. Goulden 
does Laura. Curse him I — how I would like to slam the 


56 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


front door in his face. But my time may come yet,” he 
added with set teeth. 

That morning Mr. Allen sent for Mr. Fox, as he dared 
brave him no longer without some definite show of yielding, 
in order to keep back his fatal disclosures. With a dignity 
and formality scarcely in keeping with his fear and the 
Import of his words, he said, — 

“ I have considered your statements, sir, and admit their 
weight. As I informed you through my lawyer, I wish to 
be reasonable and hope you intend to be the same, for 
these are very grave matters. In regard to my daughter, 
you have my permission to call upon her as do her other 
gentleman friends, and she will receive you. In this land, 
that is all the vantage ground a gentle7nan asks, as indeed it 
is all that can be granted. I am not the King of Dahomey 
or the Shah of Persia, and able to give my daughters where 
interest may dictate. A lady’s inclination must be consulted. 
But I give you the permission you ask ; you may pay your 
addresses to my daughter. You could scarcely ask a father 
to say more.” 

It matters little to me what you or others say, but much 
what they do. My action shall be based upon yours and 
Miss Edith’s. I have learned in your employ the value of 
promptness in all business matters. I hope you understand 
me.” 

I do, sir, but there can be no indecent haste in these 
matters. In gaining the important position — in assuming 
the relations you desire — there should be some show of 
dignity, otherwise society would be disgusted, and you would 
lose the respect which should follow such vast acquirements.” 

Where I can secure the whole cloth, I shall not worry 
about the selvage of etiquette and passing opinion,” was 
Mr. Fox’s cynical reply. 

Mr. Allen could not prevent an expression of intense dis* 


THE STORM THREATENING, 


57 

gust from coming out upon his face, and he replied with 
some heat, — 

“Well, sir, something is due to my own position, and I 
cannot treat my daughter like a bale of cloth, as you sug- 
gest in your figurative speech. However,” he added, warily, 
“ I will take the necessary steps as soon as possible, and will 
trespass upon your time no longer.” 

As Mr. Fox glided out of the office with his sardonic 
smile, Mr. Allen felt for the moment that he would rather 
become bankrupt than make terms with him. 

Meanwhile the month of February was rapidly passing, 
though each day was an age of anxiety and suspense to Mr. 
Allen. The tension was too much for him, and he evidently 
aged and failed under it. He drank more than he ate, and 
his temper was very variable. From his wife he only re- 
ceived chidings and complaints that in his horrid “ mania 
for business ” he was neglecting her and his family in 
general. She could never get him to sit down and talk 
sensibly of the birthday and debut party that was now so 
near. He would always say, testily, “ Manage it to suit 
yourselves.” 

Laura and Zell were too much wrapped up in their own 
affairs to give much thought to anything else. But Edith, 
of late, understood her father and felt deeply for him. One 
evening finding him sitting dejectedly alone in the library 
after dinner, she said, — 

“ Why go on with this party, papa ? I am sure I am 
ready to give it up if it will be any relief to you.” 

The heart of this strong, confident man of the world was 
sore and lonely. For perhaps the first time he felt the 
need of support and sympathy. He drew his beautiful 
daughter, whom thus far he had scarcely more than admired, 
down upon his lap and buried his face upon her shoulder. 
A breath of divine impulse swept aside for a moment the 


58 


IV/fA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Stifling curtains of his sordid life, and he caught a glimpse 
of the large happy realm of love. 

“ And would you really give up anything for the sake of 
your old father? ” he asked in a low tone. 

Everything,” cried Edith, much moved by the un- 
usual display of affection and feeling on the part of her 
father. 

“The others would not,” said he bitterly. 

“ Indeed, papa, I think they would if they only knew. 
We would all do anything to see you your old jovial self 
again. Give up this wretched struggle ; tell Mr. Fox to 
do his worst. I am not afraid of being poor ; I am sure 
we could work up again.” 

“You know nothing about poverty,” sighed her father. 
“ When you are down, the world that bowed at your feet will 
run over and trample on you. I have seen it so often, but 
never thought of danger to me and mine.” 

“ But this party,” said the practical Edith, “ why not give 
this up? It will cost a great deal.” 

“ By no means give it up,” said her father. “ It may help 
me very much. My credit is everything now. The appear- 
ance of wealth which such a display insures will do much 
to secure the wealth. I am watched day and night, and 
must show no sign of weakness. Go on with the party 
and make it as brilliant as possible. If I fail, two or three 
thousand will make no difference, and it may help me to 
succeed. Whatever strengthens my credit for the next few 
days is everything to me. My stock is rising, only it is too 
slow. Things look better — if I could only gain time. 
But I am very uneasy — my head troubles me,” and he put 
his hand to his head, and Edith remembered how often she 
had seen him do that of late. 

“By the way,” said he, abruptly, “tell me how you get 
on with Mr. Fox.” 


THE STORM THREATENING, 


59 

Oh, never mind about that now ; do rest a little, mind 
and body.” 

“ No, tell me,” said her father sharply, showing how little 
control he had over himself. 

“Well, I think I have beaten him so far. He is very 
demonstrative, and acts as if I belonged to him. Did I 
not manage to always meet him in company with others, he 
would come at once to an open declaration. As it is, I 
cannot prevent it much longer. He is coming this evening, 
and I fear he will press matters. He seems to think that 
the asking is a mere form, and that our extremity will leave 
no choice.” 

“You must avoid him a little longer. Come, we will 
go to the theatre, and then you might be sick for a few 
days.” 

In a few minutes they were off, and were scarcely well 
away when Mr. Fox, dressed in more style than he could 
carry gracefully, appeared. 

“ Miss Edith am out,” said Hannibal loftily. 

“ I half believe you lie,” muttered Mr. Fox, looking very 
black. 

“ Sarch de house, sah. It am a berry gentlemanly pro- 
ceeding.” 

“ Where has she gone ? and whom did she go with ? ” 

“ I hab no orders to say,” said Hannibal, looking fixedly 
at the ceiling of the vestibule. 

The knightly suitor turned on his heel, muttering, “ They 
are playing me false.” 

’Twas a pity, and he so true. 

The next day Edith was sick and Mr. Allen’s stock was 
rising. Hannibal again sent Mr. Fox baffled away, but with 
a dangerous gleam in his eyes. 

On the following morning Mr. Allen found a note on his 
desk. His face grew livid as he read it, and he often put 


6o 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


his hand to his head. He sat down and wrote to this f? 
effect, however, — 

“ I am arranging the partnership matter as rapidly as 
possible. In regard to my daughter you will ruin all if you 
show no more discretion. I cannot compel her to marry 
you. You may make it impossible to influence her in your 
favor. You have been well received. What more can you 
ask? A matter of this kind must be arranged delicately.” 

Mr. Fox pondered over this with a peculiarly foxy expres- 
sion. “ It sounds plausible. If I only thought he was 
true,” soliloquized this embodiment of truth. 

Mr. Allen’s stock was higher, and Mr. Fox watched the 
rise grimly, but he saw Edith, who was all smiles and gra- 
ciousness, and gave him a verbal invitation to her birthday- ^ 
party which was to take place early in the following week. 

The fellow had not a little vanity, and was ensnared, his 
suspicions quieted for the time. . Valuing money himself su- 
premely, it seemed most rational that father and daughter 
should regard him as the most eligible young man in the | 

city- I 

Edith’s friends, and Gus in particular, were rather aston- 
ished at the new-comer. Laura was frigid and remonstrant, ; 
Zell and Mr. V an Dam satirical, but Edith wilfully tossed her S 
head and said he was clever and well off, and she liked him f 
well enough to talk to him a little. Society had made her i 
a good actress. Meanwhile on the Tuesday following (and 
this was Friday) the long expected party would take place. ? 


THE WRECK, 


6l 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE WRECK. 

O N Saturday Mr. Allen’s stock was rising, and he ventured 
to sell a little in a quiet way. If he “ unloaded ” 
rapidly and openly, he would break down the market. 

Mr. Fox watched events uneasily. Mr. Goulden grew 
genial and more pronounced in his attentions. Gus, on 
Saturday, showed almost as much solicitude for a decisively 
favorable answer as did Mr. Fox, if the language of his eyes 
meant anything; but Edith played him and Mr. Fox olf 
against each other so adroitly that they were learning to 
hate each other as cordially as they agreed in admiring her. 
Though she inclined in her favor to Mr. Fox, he was sus> 
picious from nature, and annoyed at never being able to see 
her alone. 

As before, they were at cards together in the library, and 
Edith went for a moment into the parlor to get something. 
With the excuse of obtaining it for her, Mr. Fox followed, 
and the moment they were alone he seized her hand and 
pressed a kiss upon it. An angry flush came into her face, 
but by a great effort she so far controlled herself as to put 
her finger to her lips and point to the library, as if her chief 
anxiety was that the attention of its occupants should not be 
excited. Mr. Fox was delighted, though the angry flush was 
a little puzzling. But if Edith permitted that she would 
permit more, and if her only shrinking was lest others should 
see and know at present, that could soon be overcome. 


62 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


These thoughts passed through his mind while the incensed 
girl hastily obtained what she wished. But she, feeling that 
her cheeks were too hot to return immediately to the 
critical eyes in the library, passed out through the front 
parlor, that she might have time to be herself again when 
she appeared. On what little links destiny sometimes 
hangs I 

That which changed all her future and that of others — 
that involving life and death — occurred in the half moment 
occupied in her passing oul of the front parlor. The conse- 
quences she would feel most keenly, terribly indeed at times, 
though she might never guess the cause. Her act was a 
simple, natural one under the circumstances, and yet it told 
Mr. Fox, in his cat-like watchfulness, that with all his cun- 
ning he was being made a fool of. The moment Edith had 
passed around the sliding door and thought herself unob- 
served, an expression of intense disgust came out upon her 
expressive face, and with her lace handkerchief she rubbed 
the hand he had kissed, as if removing the slime of a reptile ; 
and the large mirror at the farther end of the room had 
faithfully reflected the suggestive little pantomime. He saw 
and understood all in a flash. 

No words could have so plainly told her feeling toward 
him, and he was one of those reptiles that could sting 
remorselessly in revenge. The nature of the imposition 
practised upon him, and the fact that it was partially success- 
ful and might have been wholly so, cut him in the sorest 
5pot. He who thought himself able to cope with the 
shrewdest and most artful had been overreached by a girl, 
and he saw at that moment that her purpose to beguile him 
long enough for Mr. Allen to extricate himself from his dififl- 
culties might have been successful. He had had before an 
uneasy consciousness that he ought to act decisively, and 
now he knew it. 


THE WRECH 63 

Fm a fool — a cursed fool,” he muttered, speaking the 
truth for once, “ but it’s not too late yet.” 

His resolution was taken instantly, but when Edith 
appeared after a moment in the library, smiling and affable 
again, he seemed in good spirits also, but there was a steely, 
serpent-like glitter in his eyes, that made him more repulsive 
than ever. But he stayed as late as the others, knowing 
that it might be his last evening at the Allens’. For Edith 
had said as part of her plan for avoiding Mr. Fox, — 

“ We shall be too busy to see any company till Tuesday 
evening, and then we hope to see you all.” 

Her sisters had assented, expecting that it would be the 
case. 

With a refinement of malice, Mr. Fox sought to give 
general annoyance, by a polite insolence toward the others, 
which they with difficulty ignored, and a lover-like gallantry 
toward Edith, which was like nettles to Gus, and nauseating 
to her ; but she did not dare resent it. He could at least 
torment ’^er a little longer. 

At last all were gone, and her father coming in from his 
club said, drawing her aside, — 

‘‘All right yet?” 

“ Yes, but I hope the ordeal will be over soon, or I shall 
die with disgust, or, like some I have read of in fairy stories, 
be killed by a poisonous breath.” 

“ Keep it up a little longer, that is a good brave girl. I 
think that by another week we shall be able to defy him,” 
said her father in cheerful tones. “ If my stock rises as 
much in the next few days as of late, I shall soon be on 
terra firma.^' 

If he had known that the mine beneath his feet was 
loaded, and the fuse fired, his full face would have become 
as pale as it was florid with wine and the dissipation of the 
evening. 


64 


WlfAT CAN SHE DO? 


Monday morning came — all seemed quiet. His stock 
was rising so rapidly that he determined to hold on a little 
longer. 

Goulden met and congratulated him, saying that he had 
bought a little himself, and would take more if Mr. Allen 
would sell, as now he was easier in funds than when spoken 
to before on the subject. 

^Ir. Allen replied rather coldly that he would not sell any 
stock that day. 

Mr. Fox kept out of the way, and quietly attended to his 
routine as usual, but there was a sardonic smile on his face, 
as if he were gloating over some secret evil. 

Tuesday, the long-expected day that the Allens believed 
would make one of the most brilliant epochs in their his- 
tory, dawned in appropriate brightness. The sun dissipated 
the few opposing clouds and declined in undimmed splen- 
dor, and Edith, who alone had fears and forebodings, took 
the day as an omen that the storm had passed, and that 
better days than ever were coming. 

Invitations by the hundred, with imposing monogram 
and coat-of-arms, had gone out, and acceptances had flowed 
back in full current. All that lavish expenditure could 
secure in one of the most luxurious social centres of the 
world had been obtained without stint to make the enter- 
tainment perfect. 

But one knew that it might become like Belshazzar’s 
feast. 

The avalanche often hangs over the Alpine passes so that 
a loud word will bring it whirling down upon the hapless 
traveller. The avalanche of ruin, impending over Mr. 
Allen, was so delicately poised that a whisper could pre- 
cipitate its crushing weight, and that whisper had been 
spoken. 

All the morning of Tuesday his stock was rising, and he 


THE WRECK. 


65 


resolved that on the morning after the party he would com- 
mence selling rapidly, and, so far from being bankrupt, he 
would realize much of the profit that he had expected. 

But a rumor was floating through the afternoon papers 
that a well-known merchant, eminent in financial and social 
circles, had been detected in violating the revenue laws, and 
that the losses which such violation would involve to him 
would be immense. The stock market, more sensitive than 
a belle’s vanity, paused to ‘see what it meant. One of Mr. 
Allen’s partners of the cloth house brought a paper to him. 
He grew pale as he read it, put his hand suddenly to his 
head, but after a moment seemingly found his voice and 
said, — 

‘‘ Could Fox have been so dastardly? ” 

His partner shrugged his shoulder as much as to say, 

Fox could do anything in that line.” 

Mr. Allen sent for Fox, but he could not be found. In 
the mean time the stock market closed and the rise of his 
stock was evidently checked for the moment. 

By reason of the party, Mr. Allen had to return up town, 
but he arranged with his partner to remain and if anything 
new developed to send word by special messenger. 

By eight o’clock the Allen mansion on Fifth Avenue was 
; all aglow with light. By nine, carriages began to roll up to 
the awning that stretched from the heavy arched doorway 
across the sidewalk, and ladies that would soon glide 
through the spacious rooms in elegant drapery, now seemed 
, misshapen bundles in their wrapping, and gathered up 
, dresses as they hurried out of the publicity of the street. 

! The dressing-rooms where the spheroidal bundles were 
undergoing metamorphose became buzzing centres of life. 

Before the long pier glasses there was a marshalling of 
• every charm, real or borrowed (more correctly bought), in 
I view of the hoped-for conquests of the evening, and it 


66 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


would seem that not a few went on the military maxim that 
success is often secured by putting on as bold a front, and 
making as great and startling display, as possible. But as 
fragrant, modest flowers usually bloom in the garden with 
gaudy, scentless ones, so those inclined to be bizat'7'e made 
an excellent foil for the refined and elegant, and thus had 
their uses. There is little in the world that is not of value, 
looking at it from some point of view. 

In another apartment the opposing forces, if we may so 
style them, were almost as eagerly investing themselves in — 
shall we say charms also ? or rather with the attributes of 
manhood? At any rate the glasses seem quite as anxiously 
consulted in that room as in the other. One might almost 
imagine them the magic mirrors of prophecy in which 
anxious eyes caught a glimpse of coming fate. There were 
certain youthful belles and beaux who turned away with 
open complacent smiles, vanity whispering plainly to them 
of noble achievement in the parlors below. There were 
others, perhaps not young, who turned away with faces 
composed in the rigid and habitual lines of pride. They 
were past learning anything from the mirror, or from any 
other source that might reflect disparagingly upon them. 
Prejudice in their own favor surrounded their minds as with 
a Chinese wall. Conceit had become a disease with them, 
and those faculties that might have let in wholesome, 
though unwelcome truth, were paralyzed. 

But the majority turned away not quite satisfied — with 
an inward foreboding that all was not as well as it might 
be — that critical eyes would see ground for criticism. 
Especially was this true of those whom Time’s interfering 
fingers had pulled somewhat awry, even beyond the remedy 
of art, and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc., 
were not quite up to the standard of some others who might 
jostle them in the crush. Realize, my reader, the anguish 


THE WRECK 


67 


of a lady compelled to stand by another lady wearing larger 
diamonds than her own, or more point lace, or a longer 
train. What will the world think, as under the chandelier 
this painful contrast comes out? Such moments of deep 
humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the next day result 
in bills that become as crushing as criminal indictments to 
poor overworked men. Under the impulse of such trying 
scenes as these, many a matron has gone forth on Broad- 
way with firm lips and eyes in which glowed inexorable 
purpose, and placed the gems that would be mill-stones 
about her husband’s neck on the fat arms or fingers that 
might have helped him forward. There are many phases 
of heroism, but if you want your breath quite taken away, 
go to Tiffany’s, and see some large-souled woman, who will 
not even count the cost or realize the dire consequences, — 
see her, like some martyr of the past, who would show to 
the world the object of his faith though the heavens fell, 
march to the counter, select the costliest, and say in tones 
of majesty, — 

“ Send the bill to my husband ! ” 

O acme of faith ! The martyrs knew that the Almighty 
was equal to the occasion. She knows that her husband is 
not; yet she trusts, or, what is the same thing here, gets 
trusted. Men allied to such women are soon lifted up to 
I — attics. It is still true that great deeds bring humanity 
I nearer heaven ! 

Therefore, my reader, deem it not trivial that I have 
I paused so long over the Allens’ party. It is philosophical 
j to trace great events and phenomenal human action to their 
hidden causes. 

There were also diffident men and maidens who descended 
I into the social arena of Mrs. Allen’s parlors, as awkward 
swimmers venture into deep water, but this is fleeting expe- 
rience in fashionable life. And we sincerely hope that some 


68 


IVHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


believed that the old divine paradox, “ It is more blessed to 
give than to receive,” is as true in the drawing-room as when 
the contribution-box goes round, and proposed to enjoy 
themselves by contributing to the enjoyment of others, and 
to see nothing that would tempt to heroic conduct at 
Tiffany’s the next day. 

When the last finishing touches had been given, and maids 
and hairdressers stood around in rapt politic breathlessness^ 
and were beginning to pass into that stage in which they 
might be regarded as exclamation points, Mrs. Allen and her 
daughters swept av/ay to take their places at the head of 
the parlors in order to receive. They liked the prelude 
of applause upstairs well enough, but then it was only like 
the tuning of the instruments before the orchestra fairly ” 
opens. 

Mrs. Allen, as she majestically took her position, evidently 
belonged to that class whom pride petrifies. Her self- 
complacency on such an occasion was habitual, her coolness 
and repose those of a veteran. A nervous creature upstairs i 
with her family, excitement made her, under the eye of V 

society, so steady and self-controlled that she was like one ' 
of the old French marshals who could plan a campaign 
under the hottest fire. Her blue eyes grew quite brilliant ^ 
and seemed to take in everything. Some natural color i.’ 
shone where the cosmetics permitted, and . her form seemed ^ 
to dilate with something more than the mysteries of French • 
modistes. Her manner and expression said, — ^ 

“ I am Mrs. Allen. We are of an old New York family, f 
We are very, very rich. This entertainment is immensely 9 
expensive and perfect in kind. I defy criticism. I expect S 
applause.” a 

Of course this was all veiled by society’s completest pol- B 
ish ; but still by a close observer it could be seen, just as a B 
skilful sculptor drapes a form, but leaves its outlines perfect 9 


THE WRECK, 69 

Laura was the echo of her mother, modified by the ele- 
ment of youth. 

Zell fairly blazed. What with sparkling jewelry, flaming 
cheeks, flashing eyes, and words thrown off like scintillating 
sparks, she suggested an exquisite July firework, burning 
longer than usual and surprising every one. Admiration 
followed her like a torrent, and her vanity dilated without 
measure as attention and compliments were almost forced 
upon her, and yet it was frank, good-natured vanity, as 
naturally to be expected in her case as a throng of gaudy 
poppies where a handful of seed had been dropped. Zell’s 
nature was a soil where good or bad seed would grow 
vigorously. 

Mr. Van Dam was never far off, and watched her with 
intent, gloating eyes, saying in self-congratulation, — 

“ What a delicious morsel she will make ! ” and adding 
his mite to the general chorus of flattery by mild assertions 
like the following : — 

“ Do you know that there is not a lady present that for a 
moment can compare with you?” 

“ How delightfully frank he is ! ” thought Zell of her dis- 
tinguished admirer, who was as open as a quicksand that 
can swallow up anything and leave not a trace on its surface. 

Edith was quite as beautiful as Zell, but far less brilliant 
and pronounced. Though quiet and graceful, she was not 
stately like Laura. Her full dark eyes were lustrous rather 
than sparkling, and they dwelt shrewdly and comprehend- 
ing!)' on all that was passing, and conveyed their intelligence 
to a brain that was judging quite accurately of men and 
things at a time when so many people “ lose their heads.” 

Zell was intoxicated by the incense she received. Laura 
offered herself so much that she was enshrouded in a thick 
cloud of complacency all the time. Edith was told by the 
eyes and manner of those around her that she was beautiful 


70 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


and highly favored by wealth and position generally. But 
she knew this, as a matter of fact, before, and did not mean 
to make a fool of herself on account of it. These points 
thoroughly settled and quietly realized, she was in a condi- 
tion to go out of herself and enjoy all that was going on. 

She was specially elated at this time also, as she had 
g:xthered from her father’s words that his danger was nearly 
over and that before the week was out they could defy Mr. 
Fox, look forward to Europe and bright voyaging generally. 

Mr. Allen did not tell her his terrible fear that Mr. Fox 
had been a little too prompt, and that crushing disaster 
might still be impending. He had said to himself, “ Let 
her and all of them make the most of this evening. It may 
be the last of the kind that they will enjoy.” 

The spacious parlors filled rapidly. If lavish expenditure 
and a large brilliant attendance could insure their enjoyment, 
it was not wanting. Flowers in fanciful baskets on the tables 
and in great banks on the mantels and in the fireplaces 
deservedly attracted much attention and praise, though the 
sum expended on their transient beauty was appalling. 
Their delicious fragrance mingling with perfumes of artificial 
origin suggested a like intermingling of the more delicate, 
subtile, but genuine manifestations of character, and the 
graces of mind and manner borrowed for the occasion. 

The scene was very brilliant. There were marvellous 
toilets — dresses not beginning as promptly as they should, 
perhaps, but seemingly seeking to make up for this defi- 
ciency by elegance and costliness, having once commenced. 
There was no economy in the train, if there had been in the 
waist. Therefore gleaming shoulders, glittering diamonds, 
the soft radiance of pearls, the sheen of gold, and lustrous 
eyes aglow with excitement, and later in the evening, with 
wine, gave a general phosphorescent effect to the parlors 
that Mrs. Allen recognized, from long experience, as the 


THE WRECK. 


71 


sparkling crown of success. So much elegance on the part 
of the ladies present would make the party the gem of the 
season, and the gentlemen in dark dress made a good black, 
enamel setting. 

There was a confused rustle of silks and a hum of voices, 
and now and then a silvery laugh would ring out above 
these like the trill of a bird in a breezy grove. Later, light 
airy music floated through the rooms, followed by the 
rhythmic cadence of feet. A thinly clad shivering little 
match-girl stopped on her weary tramp to her cellar and 
caught glimpses of the scene through the oft opening door 
and between the curtains of the windows. It seemed to her 
that those glancing forms were in heaven. Alas for this 
earthly paradise ! 

Mr. Fox, with characteristic malice, had managed that 
Mr. Allen and perhaps the family should have, as his con- 
tribution to the entertainment, the sickening dread which 
the news in the afternoon papers would occasion. As the 
evening advanced he determined to accept the invitation 
arid watch the effect. He avoided Mr. Allen, and soon 
gathered that Edith and the rest knew nothing of the 
impending blow. Edith smiled graciously on him ; she 
felt that, like the sun, she could shine on all that night. 
But as, in his insolence, his attentions grew marked, she 
soon shook him off by permitting Gus Elliot to claim her for 
a waltz. 

Mr. Fox glided around, Mephistopheles-like, gloating 
on the sinister changes that he would soon occasion. He 
was to succeed even better than he dreamed. 

The evening went forward with music and dancing, dis- 
cussing, disparaging, flirting, and skirmishing, culminating in 
numbers and brilliancy as some gorgeous flower might 
expand ; and seemingly it would have ended by the gay 
company’s rustling departure like the flower, a? the varied 


72 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


colored petals drop away from the stem, had not an even* 
occurred which was like a rude hand plucking the flower in 
its fullest bloom and tearing the petals away in mass. 

The magnificent supper had just been demolished. 
Champagne had foamed without stint, cause and symbol of 
the increasing but transient excitement of the occasion. 
More potent wines and liquors, suggestive of the stronger 
and deeper passions that were swaying the mingled throng, 
had done their work, and all, save the utterly blase, had 
secured that noble elevation which it is the province of these 
grand social combinations to create. Even Mr. Allen 
regained his habitual confidence and elevation as his waist- 
coat expanded under, or rather over, those means of cheer 
and consolation which he had so long regarded as the best 
panacea for earthly ills. The oppressive sense of danger 
gave place to a consciousness of the warm, rosy present, 
Mr. Fox and the custom-house seemed but the ugly phan- 
toms of a past dream. Was he not the rich Mr. Allen, the 
owner of this magnificent mansion, the corner-stone of this 
superb entertainment ? If by reason of wine he saw a little 
double, he only saw double homage on every side. He 
heard in men’s tones, and saw in women’s glances, that any 
one who could pay for his surroundings that night was no 
ordinary person. His wife looked majestic as she swept 
through the parlors on the arm of one of his most distin- 
guished fellow-citizens. Through the library door he could 
see Mr. Goulden leaning toward Laura and saying some- 
thing that made even her pale face quite peony-like. Edith, 
exquisite as a moss-rose, was about to lead off in the German 
in the large front parlor. Zell was near him, the spar- 
kling centre of a breezy, merry little throng that had gath- 
ered round her. It seemed that all that he loved and valued 
most was grouped around him in the guise most attractive 
to his worldly eyes. In this moment of unnatural elatioq 


THE WRECK. 


75 


hope whispered, To-morrow you can sell your stock, and, 
instead of failing, increase your vast fortune, and then away 
to new scenes, new pleasures, free from the burden of care 
and fear.” It was at that moment of false confidence and 
pride, when in suggestive words descriptive of the ancient 
tragedy of Belshazzar he “ had drank wine and praised the 
gods o'f gold and of silver” which he had so long wor- 
shipped, and which had secur-d to him all that so dilated 
his soul with exultation, that he saw the handwriting, not of 
shadowy fingers “ upon the wall,” but of his partner, sent, as 
agreed, by a special messenger. With revulsion and chill of 
fear he tore open the envelope and read, — 

Fox has done his worst. We are out for a million — ► 
All will be in the morning papers.” 

Even his florid, wine-inflamed cheeks grew pale, and he 
raised his hand tremblingly to his head, and slowly lifted his 
eyes like a man who dreads seeing something, but is 
impelled to look. The first object they rested on was the 
sardonic, mocking face of Mr. Fox, who, ever on the alert, 
had seen the messenger enter, and guessed his errand. The 
moment Mr. Allen saw this hated visage, a sudden fury took 
possession of him. He crushed the missive in his clenched 
fist, and took a hasty stride of wrath toward his tormentor, 
stopped, put his hand again to his head, a film came over 
his eyes, he reeled a second, and then fell like a stone to the 
floor. The heavy thud of the fall, the clash of the chande- 
lier overhead, could be heard throughout the rooms above 
the music and hum of voices,- and all were startled. Edith 
in the very act of leading off in the dance stood a second 
like an exquisite statue of awed expectancy, and then Zell’s 
shriek of fear and agony, Father ! ” brought her to the 
spot, and with wild, frightened eyes, and blanched faces, 
the two girls knelt above the unconscious man, while the 
startled guests gathered round in helpless curiosity. 


74 


IVIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


The usual paralysis following sudden accident was brief 
on this occasion, for there were two skilful physicians 
present, one of them having long been the family attendant. 
Mrs. Allen and Laura, in a half hysterical state, stood cling- 
ing to each other, supported by Mr. Goulden, as the medical 
gentlemen made a slight examination and applied restora- 
tives. After a moment they lifted their heads and looked 
gravely and significantly at each other; then the family 
adviser said, — 

“ Mr. Allen had better be carried at once to his room, 
and the house become quiet.” 

An injudicious guest asked in a loud whisper, ^‘Is it 
apoplexy? ” 

Mrs. Allen caught the word, and with a stifled cry fainted 
dead away, and was borne to her apartment in an uncon- 
scious state. Laura, who had inherited Mrs. Allen’s nervous 
nature, was also conveyed to her room, laughing and crying 
in turns beyond all control. Zell still knelt over her father, 
sobbing passionately, while Edith, with her large eyes di- 
lated with fear, and her cheeks in wan contrast with the 
sunset glow they had worn all the evening, maintained her 
presence of mind, and asked Mr. Goulden, Mr. Van Dam, 
and Gus Elliot, to carry her father to his room. They, 
much pleased in thus being singled out as special friends 
of the family, officiously obeyed. 

Poor Mr. Allen was borne away from the pinnacle of his 
imaginary triumph as if dead, Zell following, wringing her 
hands, and with streaming eyes ; but Edith reminded one 
of some wild, timid creature of the woods, which, though 
in an extremity of danger and fear, is alert and watchful, 
as if looking for some avenue of escape. Her searching 
eyes turned almost constantly towards the family physician, 
and he as persistently avoided meeting them. 


AMONG THE BREAKERS, 


75 


CHAPTER VII. 

AMONG THE BREAKERS. 

A FTER another brief but fuller examination of Mr 
1 . \. Allen in the privacy of his own room, Dr. Mark went 
down to the parlors. The guests were gathered in little 
groups, talking in low, excited whispers ; those who had 
seen the reading of the note and Mr. Allen’s strange action 
gaining brief eminence by their repeated statements of what 
they had witnessed and their varied surmises. The role of 
commentator, if mysterious human action be the text, is 
always popular, and as this explanatory class are proverbially 
gifted in conjecture, there were many theories of explanation. 
Some of the guests had already the good taste to prepare 
for departure, and when Dr. Mark appeared from the sick 
room, and said, — 

“ Mr. Allen and the family will be unable to appear again 
this evening. I am under the painful necessity of saying 
that this occasion, which opened so brilliantly, must now 
come to a sad and sudden end. I will convey your adieux 
and expressions of sympathy to the family ” — there was a 
general move to the dressing-Tooms. The doctor was over- 
whelmed for a moment with expressions of sympathy, that 
in the main were felt, and well questioned by eager and 
genuine curiosity, for Fox had dropped some mysterious 
hints during the evening, which had been quietly circulating. 
But Dr. Mark was professionally non-committal, and soon 
excused himself that he might attend to his patient. 


76 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


The house, that seemingly a moment before was ablaze 
with light and resounding with fashionable revelry, suddenly 
became still, and grew darker and darker, as if the shadow- 
ing wings of the dreaded angel were drawing very near. 
In the large, elegant rooms, where so short a time before 
gems and eyes had vied in brightness, old Hannibal now 
walked alone with silent tread and a peculiarly awed and 
solemn visage. One by one he extinguished the lights, leav- 
ing but faint glimmers here and there, that were like a few 
forlorn hopes struggling against the increasing darkness of 
•disaster. Under his breath he kept repeating fervently, De 
Lord hab mercy,” and this, perhaps, was the only intelligent 
prayer that went up from the stricken household in this 
hour of sudden danger and alarm. Though we believe the 
Divine Father sees the dumb agony of His creatures, and 
pities them, and often when they, like the drowning, are 
grasping at straws of human help and cheer, puts out His 
strong hand and holds them up ; still it is in accordance 
with His just law that those who seek and value His friend- 
ship find it and possess it in adversity. The height of the 
storm is a poor time and the middle of the angry Atlantic 
a poor place in which to provide life-boats. 

The Allens had never looked to Heaven, save as a 
matter of form. They had a pew in a fashionable church, 
but did not very regularly occupy it, and such attendance 
had done scarcely anything to awaken or quicken their 
spiritual life. They came home and gossiped about the 
appearance of their set,” and perhaps criticised the music, 
but one would never have dreamed from manner or conver- 
sation that they had gone to a sacred place to worship God 
in humility. Indeed, scarcely a thought of Him seemed to 
have dwelt in their minds. Religious faith had never been 
■of any practical help, and now in their extremity it seemed 
utterly intangible, and in no sense to be depended on. 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 


77 


When Mrs. Allen recovered from her swoon, and Laura 
had gained some self-control, they sent for Dr. Mark, and 
eagerly suggested both their hope and fear. 

“ It’s only a fainting fit, doctor, is it not ? Will he not 
soon be better? ” 

“ My dear madam, we will do all we can,” said the doc- 
tor, with that professional solemnity which might accompany 
the reading of a death warrant, but it is my painful duty 
to tell you to prepare for the worst. Your husband has an 
attack of apoplexy.” 

He had scarcely uttered the words before she was again 
in a swoon, and Laura also lost her transient quietness. 
Leaving his assistant and Mrs. Allen’s maid to take care of 
them, he went back to his graver charge. 

Mr. Allen lay insensible on his bed, and one could hardly 
realize that he was a dying man. His face was as flushed 
and full as it often appeared on his return from his club. 
To the girls’ unpractised ears, his loud, stertorous breathing 
only indicated heavy sleep. But neither they nor the doc- 
tor could arouse him, and at last the physician met Edith’s 
questioning eyes, and gravely and significantly shook his 
head. Though she had borne up so steadily and quietly, 
he felt more for her than for any of the others. 

“ O doctor ! can’t you save him ? ” she pleaded. 

“You must save him,” cried Zell, her eyes flashing 
through her tears, “ I would be ashamed, if I were a phy- 
sician, to stand over a strong man, and say helplessly, ‘ I can 
do nothing.’ Is this all your boasted skill amounts to? 
Either do something at once or let us get some one who 
will.” 

“ Your feelings to-night, Miss Zell,” said the doctor 
quietly, “ will excuse anything you say, however wild and 
irrational. I am doing all — ” 

“ I am not wild or unreasonable,” cried Zell. “ I only 


78 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


demand that my father’s life be saved.” Then starting up 
she threw off a shawl and stood before Dr. Mark in the 
dress she had worn in the evening, that seemed a sad 
mockery in that room of death. Her neck and arms were 
bare, and even the cool, experienced physician was startled 
by her wonderful beauty and strange manner. Her white 
throat was convulsed, her bosom heaved tumultuously, and 
on her face was the expression that might have rested on 
the face of a maiden like herself centuries before, when 
shown the rack and dungeon, and told to choose between 
her faith and her life. 

But after a moment she extended her white rounded arm 
toward him and said steadily, — 

“ I have read that if the blood of a young, vigorous per- 
son is infused into another who is feeble and old, it will 
give renewed strength and health. Open a vein in my arm. 
Save his life if you take mine.” 

You are a brave, noble girl,” said Dr. Mark, with much 
emotion, taking the extended hand and pressing it tenderly, 
“ but you are asking what is impossible in this case. Do 
you not remember that I am an old friend of your father’s ? 
It grieves me to the heart that his attack is so severe that I 
fear all within the reach of human skill is vain.” 

Zell, who was a creature of impulse, and often of noblest 
impulse, as we have seen, now reacted into a passion of 
weeping, and sank helplessly on the floor. She was capable 
of heroic action, but she had no strength for woman’s lot, 
which is so often that of patient endurance. 

Edith came and put her arms around her, and with 
gentle, soothing words, as if speaking to a child, half carried 
her to her room, where she at last sobbed herself asleep. 

For another hour Edith and the doctor watched alone, 
and the dying man sank rapidly, going down into the dark- 
ness of death without word or sign. 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 


79 


‘^Oh that he would speak once more ! ” moaned Edith. 

'' I fear he will not, my dear,” said the doctor, pitifully. 

A little later Mr. Allen was motionless, like one who has 
been touched in unquiet sleep and becomes still. Death 
had touched him, and a deeper sleep had fallen upon him. 

One of the great daily bulletins will go to press in an 
hour. A reporter jumps into a waiting hack and is driven 
rapidly up town. 

While the city sleeps preparations must go on in the mar- 
kets for breakfast, and in printing rooms for that equal 
necessity in our day, the latest news. Therefore all night 
long there are dusky figures flitting hither and thither, see- 
ing to it that when we come down in gown and slippers, our 
steak and the world’s gossip be ready. 

The breakfast of the Gothamites was furnished abun- 
dantly with sauce piquanie on the morning of the last day 
of February, for Hannibal had shaken his head ominously, 
and wiped away a few honest tears, before he could tremu- 
lously say to the eager reporter, — 

“ Mr. Allen — hab — just — died.” 

Gathering what few particulars he could, and imagining 
many more, the reporter was driven back even more rap- 
idly, full of the elation of a man who has found a good 
thing and means to make the most of it. Mr. Allen him- 
self was not of importance to him, but news about him 
was. And this fact crowning the story of his violation of 
the revenue law and his prospective loss of a million, would 
make a brisk breeze in the paper to which he was attached, 
and might waft him a little farther on as an enterprising 
news-gatherer. 

It certainly would be the topic of the day on all lips, and 
poor Mr. Allen might have plumed himself on this if he had 
known it, for few people, unless they commit a crime, are 


8o 


WHA T CAN- SHE DO t 


of sufficient importance to be talked of all day in large^ 
busy New York. In the world’s eyes Mr. Allen had com- 
mitted a crime. Not that they regarded his stock gambling 
as such. Multitudes of church members in good and regu- 
lar standing were openly engaged in this. Nor could the 
slight and unintentional violation of the revenue law be 
regarded as such, though so grave in its consequences. But 
he had faltered and died when he should not have given 
way. What the world demands is success : and sometimes 
a devil may secure this where a true man cannot. The 
world regarded Mr. Van Dam and Mr. Goulden as very suc- 
cessful men. 

Mr. Fox also had secured success by one adroit wriggle 
— we can describe his mode of achieving greatness by no 
better phrase. He was destined to receive half a mil- 
lion for his treachery to his employeis. During the war, 
when United States securities were at their worst ; when men, 
pledged to take them, forfeited money rather than do so, 
Mr. Allen had lent the government millions, because he 
believed in it, loved it, and was resolved to sustain it. That 
same government now rewards him by putting it in the 
power of a dishonest clerk to ruin him, and gives him 
;^5oo,ooo for doing so. Thus it resulted ; for we are com- 
pelled to pass hastily over the events immediately following 
Mr. Allen’s death. His partners made a good fight, showed 
that there was no intention to violate the law, and that it 
was often difficult to comply with it literally — that the sum 
claimed to be lost to the government was ridiculously dis- 
proportionate to the amount confiscated. But it was all in 
vain. There was the letter of the law, and there were Mr. 
Fox and his associates in the custom-house, “ all honorable 
men,” with hands itching to clutch the plunder. 

But before this question was settled the fate of the stock 
operation in Wall Street was most effectually disposed of. 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 8 I 

As soon as Mr. Goulden heard of Mr. Allen’s death, he sold 
at a slight loss all he had ; but his action awakened suspi- 
cion, and it was speedily learned that the rise was due 
mainly to Mr. Allen’s strong pushing, and the inevitable 
results followed. As poor Mr. Allen’s remains were lowered 
into the vault, his stock in Wall Street was also going down 
with a run. 

In brief, in the absence of the master’s hand, and by rea- 
«on of his embarrassments, there were general wreck and 
ruin in his affairs ; and Mrs. Allen w'as soon compelled to 
face the fact, even more awful to her than her husband’s 
death, that not a penny remained of his colossal fortune, 
and that she had yawningly signed away all of her own 
means. But she could only wring her hands in view of these 
blighting truths, and indulge in half-uttered complaints 
against her husband’s “folly,” as she termed it. From the 
first her grief had been more emotional than deep, and her 
mind, recovering in part its usual poise, had begun to be 
much occupied with preparations for a grand funeral, which 
was carried out to her taste. Then arose deeply interesting 
questions as to various styles of mourning costume, and an 
exciting vista of dressmaking opened before her. She was 
growing into quite a serene and hopeful frame when the mis- 
erable and blighting facts all broke upon her. When there was 
little of seeming necessity to do, and there were multitudes 
to do for her, Mrs. Allen’s nerves permitted no small degree 
of activity. But now,’ as it became certain that she and her 
daughters must do all themselves, her hands grew helpless. 
The idea of being poor was to her like dying. It was enter- 
ing on an experience so utterly foreign and unknown that it 
seemed like going to another world and phase of existence, 
and she shrank in pitiable dread from it. 

Laura had all her mother’s helpless shrinking from pov- 
erty, but with another and even bitterer ingredient added. 


82 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Mr. Goulden was extremely polite, exquisitely sympathetic, 
and in terms as vague as elegantly expressed had offered to 
do anything (but nothing in particular) in his power to show 
his regard for the family and his esteem for his departed 
friend. He was very sorry that business would compel him 
to leave town for some little time — 

Laura had the spirit to interrupt him 'saying, “ It matters 
little, sir. There are no further Wall Street operations to be 
j?arried on here. Invest your time and friendship where it 
will pay.” 

Mr. Goulden, who plumed himself that he would slip out 
of this bad matrimonial speculation with such polished skill 
that he would leave only flattering regret and sighs behind, 
under the biting satire of Laura’s words suddenly saw what 
a contemptible creature is the man whom selfish policy, 
rather than honor and principle, governs. He had brains 
enough to comprehend himself and lose his self-respect then 
and there, as he went away tingling with shame from the 
girl whom he had wronged, but who had detected his sor- 
did meanness. Sigh after him ! She would ever despise 
him, and that hurt Mr. Goulden’s vanity severely. He had 
come very near loving Laura Allen, about as near perhaps as 
he ever would come to loving any one, and it had cost him 
a little more to give her up than to choose between a good 
and a bad venture on the street. With compressed lips he 
had said to himself — “ No gushing sentiment. In carrying 
out your purpose to be rich you must marry wealth,” 
Therefore he had gone to make what he meant to be his 
final call, feeling quite heroic in his steadfastness — his 
loyalty to purpose, that is, himself. But as he recalled 
during his homeward walk her glad welcome, her wistful, 
pleading looks, and then, as she realized the truth, her pain, 
her contempt, and her meaning words of scorn, his miserable 
egotism was swept aside, and for the first time the selfish 


AMOATG THE BREAKERS, 


83 


man saw the question from her standpoint, and as we have 
said he was not so shallow but that he saw and loathed him- 
self. He lost his self-respect as he never had done before, 
and therefore to a certain extent his power ever to be 
happy again. 

Small men, full of petty conceit, can recover from any 
wounds upon their vanity, but proud and large-minded men 
have a self-respect, even though based upon questionable 
foundation. It is essential to them, and losing it they are 
inwardly wretched. As soldiers carry the painful scars of 
some wounds through life, so Mr. Goulden would find that 
Laura’s words had left a sore place while memory lasted. 

Mr. Van Dam quite disarmed Edith’s suspicions and 
prejudices by being more friendly and intimate with Zell 
than ever, and the latter was happy and exultant in the fact, 
saying, with much elation, that her friend was “ not a mer- 
cenary wretch, like Mr. Goulden, but remained just as true 
and kind as ever.” 

It was evident that this attention and show of kindness to 
the warm-hearted girl made a deep impression and greatly 
increased Mr. Van Dam’s power over her. But Edith’s 
suspicion and dislike began to return as she saw more of the 
manner and spirit of the man. She instinctively felt that he 
was bad and designing. 

One day she quite incensed Zell, who was chanting his 
praises, by saying, — 

I haven’t any faith in him. What has he done to show 
real friendship for us ? He comes here only to amuse him- 
self with you ; Gus Elliot is the only one who has been of 
any help.” 

But Edith had her misgivings about Gus also. Now, in 
her trouble and poverty, his weakness began to reveal itself 
in a new and repulsive light. In fact, that exquisitely fine 
young gentleman loved Edith well enough to marry her, but 


84 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


not to work for her. That was a sacrifice that he could not j 
make for any woman. Though out of his natural kindness 
and good-nature he felt very sorry for her, and wanted to 
help and pet her, he had been shown his danger so clearly . 
that he was constrained and awkward when with her, for, to , 
tell the truth, his father had taken him aside and said, — 

‘‘ Look here, Gus. See to it that you don’t entangle 
yourself with Miss Allen, now her father has failed. She 
couldn’t support you now, and you never can support even 
yourself. If you would go to work like a man — but one has 
got to be a man to do that. It seems true, as your mother 
says, that you are of too fine clay for common uses. There- • 
fore, don’t make a fool of yourself. You can’t keep up your 
style on a pretty face, and you must not wrong the girl by . 
making her think you can take care of her. I tell you 
plainly, I can’t bear another ounce added to my burden, ^ 
and how long I shall stand up under it as it is, I can’t ' 
tell.” 

Gus listened with a sulky, injured air. I^e felt that his 
father never appreciated him as did his mother and sisters, 
and indeed society at large. Society to Gus was tlie ultra- 
fashionable world of which he was one of the shining lights. 

The ladies of the family quite restored his equanimity by ■ 
saying,— 

Now see here, Gus, don’t dream of throwing yourself 
away on Edith Allen. You can marry any girl you please in 
the city. So, for Heaven’s sake ” (though what Heaven had 
to do with their advice it is hard to say), ‘‘don’t let her , 
lead you on to say what you would wish unsaid. Remember 
they are no more now than any other poor people, except ■ 
that they are refined, etc., but this will only make poverty ' 
harder for them. Of course we are sorry for them, but in 
this world people have got to take care of themselves. So t- 
we must be on the lookout for some one who has money w 


AMONG THE BEEANEES. 85 

which can’t be sunk in a stock operation as if thrown into 
the sea.” 

After all this sound reason, poor, weak Gus, vaguely con- 
scious of his helplessness, as stated by his father, and quite 
believing his mother’s assurance that “ he could marry any 
girl he pleased,” was in no mood to urge the penniless Edith 
to give him her empty hand, while before the party, when 
he believed it full, he was doing his best to bring her to this 
point, though in fact she gave him little opportunity. 

Edith detected the change, and before very long surmised 
the cause. It made the young girl curl her lip, and say, in 
a tone of scorn that would have done Gus good to hear, — 

“The idea of a 7nan acting in this style.” 

But she did not care enough about him to receive a wound 
of any depth, and with a good-natured tolerance recognized 
his weakness, and his genuine liking for her, and determined 
to make him useful. 

Edith was very practical, and possessed of a brave, reso- 
lute nature. She was capable of strong feelings, but Gus 
Elliot was not the man to awaken such in any woman. 
She liked his company, and proposed to use him in certain 
ways. Under her easy manner Gus also became at ease, 
and, finding that he was not expected to propose and be 
sentimental, was all the more inclined to be friendly. 

“ I want you to find me books, and papers also, if there 
are any, that tell how to raise fruit,” she said to him one day. 

“ What a funny request ! I should as soon expect you 
would ask for instruction how to drive four-in-hand.” 

“ Nothing of that style, henceforth. I must learn some- 
thing useful now. Only the rich can afford to be good-for- 
nothing, and we are not rich now.” 

“ For which I am very sorry,” said Gus, with some feeling. 

“ Thank you. Such disinterested sympathy is beautiful/’ 
said Edith dryly. 


86 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


Gus looked a little red and awkward, but hastened to say, 
“ I will hunt up what you wish, and bring it as soon as 
possible.” 

“ You are very good. That is all at present,” said Edith, 
in a tone that made Gus feel that it was indeed all that it 
was in his power to do for her at that time, and he went 
away with a dim perception that he was scarcely more than 
her errand boy. It made him very uncomfortable. Though 
he wished her to understand he could not marry her now, he 
wished her to sigh a little after him. Gus’s vanity rather 
resented that, instead of pining for him, she should with a 
little quiet satire set him to work. He had never read 
a romance that ended so queerly. He had expected that 
they might have a little tender scene over the inexorable fate 
that parted them, give and take a memento, gasp, appeal 
to the moon, and see each other’s face no more, she going to 
the work and poverty that he could never stoop to from the 
innate refinement and elegance of his being, and he to hunt 
up the heiress to whom he would give the honor of main- 
taining him in his true sphere. * 

But his little melodrama was entirely spoiled by her mat- 
ter-of-fact way, and what was worse still he felt in her 
presence as if he did not amount to much, and that she 
knew it ; and yet, like the poor moth that singes its wings 
around the lamp, he could not keep away. 

The prominent trait of Gus’s character, as of so many 
others in our luxurious age of self-pleasing, was weakness ; 
and yet one must be insane with vanity to be at ease if he 
can do nothing resolutely and dare nothing great. He is a 
cripple, and, if not a fool, knows it. 

During the eventful month that followed Mr. Allen’s death, 
Mrs. Allen and her daughters led what seemed to them a 
very strange life. While in one sense it was real and intensely 
painful, in another the experiences were so new and strange 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 


87 


that it all seemed an unreal dream, a distressing nightmare 
of trouble and danger, from which they might awaken to 
their old life. 

Mrs. Allen, from her large circle of acquaintances, had 
numerous callers, many coming from mere morbid curiosity, 
more from mingled motives, and not a few from genuine 
tearful sympathy. To these “ her friends,” as she emphati- 
cally called them, she found a melancholy pleasure in re- 
counting all the recent woes, in which she ever appeared as 
chief sufferer and chief mourner, though her husband 
seemed among the minor losses, and thus most of her time 
was spent during the last few weeks at her old home. Her 
friends appeared to find a melancholy pleasure in listening 
to these details and then in recounting them again to other 
“ friends ” with a running commentary of their own, until 
that little fraction of the feminine world acquainted with the 
Allens had sighed, surmised, and perhaps gossiped* over the 
“ afflicted family ” so exhaustively that it was really time for 
something new. The men and the papers down town also 
had their say, and perhaps all tried, as far as human nature 
would permit, to say nothing but good of the dead and 
unfortunate. 

Laura, after the stinging pain of each successive blow to 
her happiness, sank into a dreary apathy, and did mechani- 
cally the few things Edith asked of her. 

Zell lived in varied moods and conditions, now weeping 
bitterly for her father, again resenting with impotent passion 
the change in their fortunes, but ending usually by comfort- 
ing herself with the thought that Mr. Van Dam was true to 
her. He was as true and faithful as an insidious, incurable 
disease when once infused into the system. His infernal 
policy now was to gradually alienate her interest from her 
family and centre it in him. Though promising nothing in 
an open, manly way, he adroitly made her believe that only 


ss 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


through him could she now hope to reach brighter days 
again, and to Zell he seemed the one means of escape from 
a detested life of poverty and privation. She became more 
infatuated with him than ever, and cherished a secret 
resentment against Edith because of her distrust and dislike 
of him. 

The Allens had but few near relatives in the city at this 
time, and with these they were not on very good terms, nor 
were they the people to be helpful in adversity. Mr. Allen’s 
partners were men of the world like himself, and they were 
also incensed that he should have been carrying on private 
speculations in Wall Street to the extent of risking all his 
capital. His fatal stock operation, together with the govern- 
ment confiscation, had involved them also in ruin ; and they 
had enough to do to look after themselves. They were far 
more eager to secure something out of the general wreck 
than to see that anything remained for the family. The 
Allens were left very much to themselves in their struggle 
with disaster, securing help and advice chiefly as they paid 
for it. 

Mr. Allen was accustomed to say that women were inca- 
pable of business, and yet here are the ladies of his own 
household compelled to grapple with the most perplexing 
forms of business or suffer aggravated losses. Though all of 
his family were of mature years, and thousands had been 
spent on their education, they were as helpless as four chil- 
dren in dealing with the practical questions that daily came 
to them for decision. At first all matters were naturally 
referred to the widow, but she would only wring her hands 
and say, — 

‘‘ I don’t know anything about these horrid things. Can’t 
I be left alone with my sorrow in peace a few days ? Go to 
•Edith.” 

And to Edith at last all came till the poor girl was almost 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 89 

distracted. It was of no use to go to Laura for advice, for 
she would only say in dreary apathy, — 

“Just as you think best. Anything you say.” 

She was indulging in unrestrained wretchedness to the 
utmost. Luxurious despair is so much easier than painful 
perplexing action. 

Zell was still “ the child ” and entirely occupied with Mr. 
Van Dam. So Edith had to bear the brunt of everything. 
She did not do this in uncomplaining sweetness, like an 
angel, but scolded the others soundly for leaving all to her. 
They whined back that they “couldn’t do anything, and 
didn’t know how to do anything.” 

“ You know as muck as I do,” retorted Edith. 

And this was true. Had not Edith possessed a practical 
resolute nature, that preferred any kind of action to apa- 
thetic inaction and futile grieving, she would have been as 
helpless as the rest. 

Do you say then that it was a mere matter of chance that 
Edith should be superior to the others, and that she de- 
served no credit, and they no blame ? Why should such 
all-important conditions of character be the mere result of 
chance and circumstance? Would not Christian education 
and principle have vastly improved the Edith that existed? 
Would they not have made the others helpful, self-forget- 
ting, and sympathetic? Why should the world be full of 
people so deformed, or morally feeble, or so ignorant, as to 
be helpless ? Why should the naturally strong work with 
only contempt and condemnation for the weak? While 
many say, “Stand aside, I am holier than thou,” perhaps 
more say, “Stand aside, I am wiser — stronger than thou,” 
and the weak are made more hopelessly discouraged. This 
helplessness on one hand, and arrogant fault-finding strength 
on the other, are not the result of chance, but of an 
imperfect education. They come from the neglect and 


90 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


wrong-doing of those whose province it was to train and 
educate. 

If we find among a family of children reaching maturity 
one helpless from deformity, and another from feebleness, 
and are told that the parents, by employing surgical skill, 
might have removed the deformity, and overcome the weak- 
ness by tonic treatment, but had neglected to do so, we 
should not have much to say about chance. I know of a 
poor man who spent nearly all that he had in the world to 
have his boy’s leg straightened, and he was called a “ good 
father.” What are these physical defects compared with the 
graver defects of character? 

Even though Mr. Allen is dead, we cannot say that he 
was a good father, though he spent so many thousands on 
his daughters. We certainly cannot call Mrs. Allen a good 
mother, and the proof of this is that Laura is feeble and 
selfish, Zell deformed through lack of self-control, and Edith 
hard and pitiless in her comparative strength. They were 
unable to cope with the practical questions of their situ- 
ation. They had been launched upon the perilous, uncer- 
tain voyage of life without the compass of a true faith or the 
charts of principle to guide them, and they had been pro- 
vided with no life-boats of knowledge to save them in case 
of disaster. They are now tossing among the breakers of 
misfortune, almost utterly the sport of the winds and waves 
of circumstances. If these girls never reached the shore of 
happiness and safety, could we wonder? 

How would your daughter fare, my reader, if you were 
gone and she were poor, with her hands and brain to de- 
pend on for bread, and her heart culture for happiness? In 
■spite of all your providence and foresight, such may be her 
situation. Such becomes the condition of many men’s 
daughters every day. 

But time and events swept the Allens forward, as the 


AMONG THE BREAKERS. 


91 


shipwrecked are borne on the crest of a wave, and we must 
follow their fortunes. Hungry creditors, especially the petty 
ones up town, stripped them of everything they could lay 
their hands on, and they were soon compelled to leave their 
Fifth Avenue mansion. The little place in the country, 
given to Edith partly in jest by her father as a birthday 
present, was now their only refuge, and to this they pre= 
pared to go on the first of April. Edith, as usual, took the 
lead, and was to go in advance of the others with such fur- 
niture as they had been able to keep, and prepare for their 
coming. Old Hannibal, who had grown gray in the service 
of the family, and now declined to leave it, was to accom- 
pany her. On a dark, lowering day, symbolic of their for- 
tunes, some loaded drays took down to the boat that with 
which they would commence the meagre housekeeping of 
their poverty. Edith went slowly down the broad steps 
leading from her elegant home, and before she entered the 
carriage turned for one lingering, tearful look, such as 
Eve may have bent upon the gate of Paradise closing be- 
hind her, then sprang into the carriage, drew the curtains, 
and sobbed all the way to the boat. Scarcely once before, 
during that long, hard month, had she so given way to her 
fvjelings. But she was alone now and none could see her 
tjars and call her weak. Hannibal took his seat on the box 
with the driver, and looked and felt very much as he did 
when following his master to Greenwood. 


92 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER VIII. 


WARPED. 


I T is the early breakfast hour at a small frame house, situ- 
ated about a mile from the staid but thriving village of 
Pushton. But the indications around the house do not 
denote thrift. Quite the reverse. As the neighbors ex- 
pressed it, “there was a screw loose with Lacey,” the owner 
of this place. It was going down hill like its master. A 
general air of neglect and growing dilapidation impressed 
the most casual observer. The front gate hung on one 
hinge ; boards were off the shackly barn, and the house 
had grown dingy and weather-stained from lack of paint. 
But as you entered and passed from the province of the 
master to that of the mistress a new element was apparent, 
struggling with, but unable to overcome, the predominant 
tendency to unthrift and seediness. But everything that 
Mrs. Lacey controlled was as neat as the poor overworked 
woman could keep it. 

At the time our story becomes interested in her fortunes, 
Mrs. Lacey was a middle-aged woman, but appeared older 
than her years warranted, from the long-continued strain of 
incessant toil, and from that which wears much faster still, 
the depression of an unhappy, ill-mated life. Her face 
wore the pathetic expression of confirmed discouragement. 
She reminded one of soldiers fighting when they know that 
it is of no use, and that defeat will be the only result, but 
who fight on mechanically, in obedience to orders. 


WARPED. 


93 


She is now placing a very plain but wholesome and well- 
prepared breakfast on the table, and it would seem that 
both the eating and cooking were carried on in the same 
large living-room. Her daughter, a rosy-cheeked, half- 
grown girl of fourteen, was assisting her, and both mother 
and daughter seemed in a nervous state of expectancy, as 
if hoping and fearing the result of a near event. A moment’s 
glance showed that this event related to a lad of about sev- 
enteen, who was walking about the room, vainly trying to 
control the agitation which is natural even to the cool and 
experienced when feeling that they are at one of the crises 
of life. 

It could not be expected of Arden Lacey at his age to be 
cool and experienced. Indeed his light curling hair, blue 
eyes, and a mobile sensitive mouth, suggested the reverse 
of a stolid self poise, or cheerful endurance. Any one accus- 
tomed to observe character could see that he was possessed 
of a nervous, fine- fibred nature capable of noble achieve- 
ment under right influences, but also easily warped and sus- 
ceptible to sad injury under brutal wrong. He was like 
those delicate and somewhat complicated musical instru- 
ments that, produce the sweetest harmonies when in tune 
and well played upon, but the most jangling discords when 
unstrung and in rough, ignorant hands. He had inherited 
his nervous temperament, his tendency to irritation and 
excess, from the diseased, over-stimulated system of his 
father, who was fast becoming a confirmed inebriate, and 
who had been poisoning himself with bad liquors all his 
life. From his mother he had obtained what balance he 
had in temperament, but he owed more to her daily influ- 
ence and training. It was the one struggle' of the poor 
woman’s life to shield her children from the evil conse- 
quences of their father’s life. For her son she had special 
anxiety, knowing his sensitive high-strung nature, and his- 


94 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


tendency to go headlong into evil if his self-respect and 
self-control were once lost. His passionate love for her had 
been the boy’s best trait, and through this she had con- 
trolled him thus far. But she had thought that it might be 
best for him to be away from his father’s presence and influ- 
ence if she could only find something that accorded with 
his bent. And this eventually proved to be a college educa- 
tion. The boy was of a quick and studious mind. From 
earliest years he had been fond of books, and as time ad- 
vanced, the passion for study and reading grew upon him. 
He had a strong imagination, and his favorite styles of read- 
ing were such as appealed to this. In the scenes of history 
and romance he escaped from the sordid life of toil and 
shame to which his father condemned him, into a large 
realm that seemed rich and glorified in contrast. When he 
was but fourteen the thought of a liberal education fired his 
ambition and became the dream of his life. He made the 
very most of the district school to which he was sent in 
winter. The teacher happened to be a well-educated man, 
and took pride in his apt, eager scholar. Between the boy’s 
and the mother’s savings they had obtained enough to secure 
private lessons in Latin and Greek, and now at the age of 
seventeen he was tolerably well prepared for college. 

But the father had no sympathy at all with these tastes, 
and from the incessant labor he required of his son, and the 
constant interruptions he occasioned in his studies even in 
winter, he had been a perpetual bar to all progress. 

On the day previous to the scene described in the open- 
/ng of this chapter, the winter term had closed, and Mr. 
Rule, the teacher, had declared that Arden could enter col- 
lege, and with natural pride in his own work as instructor, 
intimated that he would lead his class if he did. 

Both mother and son were so elated at this that they 
determined at once to state the fact to the^ father, thinking 


WARPED. 


95 


[ that if he had any of the natural feelings of a parent he 
i would take soiiie pride in his boy, and be willing to help 
i him obtain the education he longed for. 

But there is little to be hoped from a man who is com- 
1 pletely under the influence of ignorance and rum. Mr. 

I l.acey was the son of a small farmer like himself, and never 
I had anything to recommend him but his fine looks, which 
' had captivated poor Mrs. Lacey to her cost. Unlike the 
majority of his class, who are fast becoming a very intelli- 
gent part of the community, and are glad to educate their 
children, he boasted that he liked the “ old ways,” and by 
these he meant the worst ways of his father’s day, w'hen 
books and schools were scarce, and few newspapers found 
their way to rural homes. He was, like his father before 
him, a graduate of the village tavern, and had imbibed bad 
liquor and his ideas of life at the same time from that objec- 
tionable source. With the narrow-mindedness of his class, 
he had a prejudice against all learning that went beyond the 
three R’s, and had watched with growing disapprobation his 
son’s taste for books, believing that it would spoil him as a 
farm hand, and make him an idle dreamer. He was less 
and less inclined to work himself as his frame became dis- 
eased and enfeebled from intemperance, and he determined 
now to get as much work as possible out of that “great 
hulk of a boy,” as he called Arden. He had picked up 
some hints of the college hopes, and the very thought 
angered him. He determined that when the boy broached 
the subject he would give him such a “jawing” (to use his 
own vernacular) “ as would put an end to that nonsense.” 
Therefore both Arden and his mother, who were waiting as 
we have described in such a perturbed anxious state for his 
entrance, were doomed to bitter disappointment. At last a 
heavy red-faced man entered the kitchen, stalking in on the 
white floor out of the drizzling rain with his muddy boots 


96 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


leaving tracks and blotches in keeping with his character. 
But he had the grace to wash his grimy hands before sitting 
down to the table. He was always in a bad humor in the 
morning, and the chilly rain had not improved it. A glance 
around showed him that something was on hand, and he sur« 
mised that it was the college business. He at once thought 
within himself, — 

“ I’ll squelch the thing now, once for all.” 

Turning to his son, he said, ‘‘ Look here, youngster, why 
hain’t you been out doing your chores? D’ye expect me to 
do your work and mine too?” 

“ Father,” said the impulsive boy with a voice of trem- 
bling eagerness, “ if you will let me go to college next fall. 
I’ll do my work and yours too. I’ll work night and day — ” 

“What cussed nonsense is this?” demanded the man 
harshly, clashing down his knife and fork and turning frown- 
ingly toward his son. 

“ No, but fa^-’ er, listen to me before you refuse. Mr. 
Rule says I’m ' to enter college and that I can lead my 
class too. V\c been studying for this three years. I’ve set 
my heart upon it,” and in his earnestness, tears gathered in 
his eyes. 

“ The more fool you, and old Rule is another,” was the 
coarse answer. 

The boy’s eyes flashed angrily, but the mother here spoke. 

“You ought to be proud of your son, John ; if you were a 
true father you would be. If you’d encourage and help him 
now, he’d make a man that — ” 

“ Shut up ! little you know about it. He’d make one of 
your snivelling white-fingered loafers that’s too proud to get 
a living by hard work. Perhaps you’d like to make a par- 
son out of him. Now look here, old woman, and you too^ 
my young cock. I’ve suspicioned that something of this 
kind was up, but I tell you once for g.i) it v/on’t go. Just as 


IVARPED. 


97 


this hulk of a boy is gettin’ of some use to me, you want to 
spoil him by sending him to college. I’ll see him hanged 
first,” and the man turned to his breakfast as if he had set- 
tled it. But he was startled by his son’s exclaiming passion- 
ately, — 

I will go.” 

‘^Look a here, what do you mean?” said the father, ris- 
ing with a black ugly look. 

I mean I’ve set my heart on going to college and I will 
go. You and all the world sha’n’t hinder me. I won’t stay 
here and be a farm drudge all my life.” 

The man’s face was livid with anger, and in a low, hissing 
tone he said, — 

I guess you want taking down a peg, my college gentle- 
man. Perhaps you don’t know I’m master till you’re 
twenty-one,” and he reached down a large leather strap. 

“You strike me if you dare,” shouted the boy. 

“ If I dare ! haw ! haw ! If I don’t cut the cussed non- 
sense out of yer this morning, then I never did,” and he 
took an angry stride toward his son who sprang behind the 
stove. 

The wife and mother had stood by growing whiter and 
whiter, and with lips pressed closely together. At this criti- 
cal moment she stepped before her infuriated husband and 
seized his arm, exclaiming, — 

“John, take care. You have reached the end.” 

“ Stand aside,” snarled the man, raising the strap, “ or 
I’ll give you a taste of it, too.” 

The woman’s grasp tightened on his arm, and in a voice 
that made him pause and look fixedly at her, she said, — 

“ If you strike me or that boy I’ll take my children and 
we will leave your roof this hateful day never to return.” 

“ Hain’t I to be master in my own house ? ” said the hus- 
band sullenly. 


98 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ You are not to be a brute in your own house. I know 
you’ve struck me before, but I endured it and said nothing 
about it because you were drunk, but you are not drunk 
now, and if you lay a finger on me or my son to-day, I will 
never darken your doors again.” 

The unnatural father saw that he had gone too far. He 
had not expected such an issue. He had long been accus- 
tomed to follow the lead of his brutal passions, but had now 
reached a point where he felt. he must stop, as. his wife said. 
Turning on his heel, he sullenly took his place at the table 
muttering, — 

‘‘ It’s a pretty pass when there’s mutiny in a man’s own 
house.” Then to his son, “ You won’t get a d— n cent out 
of me for your college business, mind that.” 

Rose, the daughter, who had been crying and wringing 
her hands on the door-step, now came timidly -in, and at a 
sign from her mother she and her brother went into another 
room. 

The man ate for a while in dogged silence, but at last in 
a tone that was meant to be somewhat conciliatory said, — 

“ What the devil did you mean by putting the boy up to 
such foolishness ? ” 

** Hush ! ” said his wife imperiously, “ I’m in no mood to 
talk with you now.” 

“ Oh, ah, indeed, a man can’t even speak in his own 
house, eh? I guess I’ll take myself off to where I can 
have a little more liberty,” and he went out, harnessed his 
old white horse, and started for his favorite groggery in the 
village. 

His father had no sooner gone than Arden came out and 
said passionately, — 

“ It’s no use, mother, I can’t stand it ; I must leave home 
to-day. I guess I can make a living ; at any rate I’d rather 
starve than pass through such scenes.” 


WARPED. 


99 


The poor, overwrought woman threw herself down in a 
low chair and sobbed, rocking herself back and forth. 

Wait till I die, Arden, wait till I die. I feel it won’t be 
long. What have I to live for but you and Rosy? And if 
you, my pride and joy, go away after what has happened, it 
will be worse than death,” and a tempest of grief shook her 
gaunt frame. 

Arden was deeply moved. Boylike he had been thinking 
only of himself, but now as never before he realized her 
hard lot, and in his warm, impulsive heart there came a 
yearning tenderness for her such as he had never felt before. 
He took her in his arms and kissed and comforted her, till 
even her sore heart felt the healing balm of love and ceased 
its bitter aching. At last she dried her eyes and said with 
a faint smile, — 

^‘With such a boy to pet me, the world isn’t all flint and 
thorns yet.” 

And Rosy came and kissed her too, for she was an affec- 
tionate child, though a little inclined to be giddy and vain. 

“ Don’t worry, mother,” said Arden. “ I will stay and 
take such good care of you that you will have many years 
yet, and happier ones, too, I hope,” and he resolved to keep 
this promise, cost what it might. 

“ I hardly think I ought to ask it of you, though even the 
thought of your going away breaks my heart.” 

“ I will stay,” said the boy, almost as passionately as he 
had said, “ I will go.” I now see how much you need a 
protector.” 

That night the father came home so stupidly drunk that 
they had to half carry him to bed where he slept heavily till 
morning, and rose considerably shaken and depressed from 
his debauch. The breakfast was as silent as it had been 
stormy on the previous day. After it was over, Arden fol- 
lowed his father to the door and said, — 

Lore 


lOO 


IVIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ I was a boy yesterday morning, but you made me a 
man, and a rather ugly one too. I learned then for the 
first time that you occasionally strike my mother. Don’t 
you ever do it again, or it will be worse for you, drunk or 
sober. I am not going to college, but will stay at home and 
take care of her. Do we understand each other? ” 

The man was in such a low, shattered condition that his 
son’s bearing cowed him, and he walked off muttering, — 

“ Young cocks crow mighty loud,” but from that time 
forward he never offered violence to his wife or children. 

Still his father’s conduct and character had a most disas- 
trous effect upon the young man. He was soured, because 
disappointed in his most cherished purpose at an age when 
most youths scarcely have definite plans. Many have a 
strong natural bent, and if turned aside from this, they are 
more or less unhappy, and their duties, instead of being 
wings to help life forward, become a galling yoke. 

This was the case with Arden. Farm work, as he had 
learned it from his father, was coarse, heavy drudgery, with 
small and uncertain returns, and these were largely spent at 
the village rum shops in purchasing slow perdition for the 
husband, and misery and shame for his wife and children. 

In respectable Pushton, a drunkard’s family, especially if 
poor, had a very low social status. Mrs. Lacey and her 
children would not accept of bad associations, so they had 
scarcely any. This ostracism, within certain limits, is per- 
haps right. The preventive penalties of vice can scarcely 
be too great, and men and women must be made to feel 
that wrong-doing is certain to be followed by terrible conse- 
quences. The fire is merciful in that it always bums, and 
sin and suffering are inseparably linked. But the conse- 
quences of one person’s sin often blight the innocent. The 
necessity of this from our various ties should be a motive, a 
hostage against sinning, and doubtless restrains many a one 


WARPED. 


101 


who would go headlong under evil impulses. But multi- 
tudes do slip off the paths of virtue, and helpless wives, and 
often helpless husbands and children, writhe from wounds 
made by those under sacred obligations to shield them. 
Upon the families of criminals, society visits a mildew of 
coldness and scorn that blights nearly all chance of good 
fruit. But society is very unjust in its discriminations, and 
some of the most heinous sins in God’s sight are treated as 
mere eccentricities, or condemned in the poor, but winked 
at in the rich. Gentlemen will admit to their parlors men 
about whom they know facts which if true of a woman 
would close every respectable door against her, and God 
frowns on the Christian ( ?) society that makes such arbi- 
trary and unjust distinctions. Cast both out, till they bring 
forth fruits meet for repentance. 

But we hope for little of a reformative tendency from the 
selfish society of the world. Changing human fashion rules 
it, rather than the eternal truth of the God of love. The 
saddest feature of all is that the shifting code of fashion is 
coming more and more to govern the church. Doctrine 
may remain the same, profession and intellectual belief the 
same, while practical action drifts far astray. There are 
multitudes of wealthy churches, that will no more admit asso- 
ciations with that class among which our Lord lived and 
worked, than will select society. They seem designed to help 
only respectable, well-connected sinners, toward heaven. 

This tendency has two phases. In the cities the poor are 
practically excluded from worshipping with the rich, and 
missions are established for them as if they were heathen. 
There can be no objection to costly, magnificent churches 
Nothing is too good to be the expression of our honor 
and love of God. But they should be like the cathe- 
drals of Europe, where prince and peasant may bow to- 
gether on the same level they have in the Divine presence. 


102 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Christ made no distinction between the rich and poor re- 
garding their spiritual value and need, nor should the 
Christianity named after Him. To the degree that it does, 
it is not Christianity. The meek and lowly Nazarene is not 
its inspiration. Perhaps the personage He told to get 
behind Him when promising the “ kingdoms of the world 
and the glory of them ” has more to do with it. 

The second phase of this tendency as seen in the coun- 
try, is kindred but unlike. Poverty may n6t be so great a 
bar, but moral delinquencies are more severely visited, and 
the family under a cloud, through the wrong-doing of one 
or more of its members, is treated very much as if it had a 
perpetual pestilence. The highly respectable keep aloof. 
Too often the quiet country church is not a sanctuary and 
place of refuge for the victims of either their own or 
another’s sin, a place where the grasp of sympathy and 
words of encouragement are given ; but rather a place 
where they meet the cold critical gaze of those who are 
hedged about with virtues and good connections. I hope I 
am wrong, but how is it where you live, my reader? If a 
well-to-do thriving man of integrity takes a fine place in 
your community, we all know how church people will treat 
him. And what they do is all right. But society — the 
world — will do the same. Is Christianity — are the follow- 
ers of the “ Friend of publicans and sinners ” — to do no 
more? 

If in contrast a drunken wretch like Lacey with his wife 
and children come in town on top of a wagon-load of shat- 
tered furniture, and all are dumped down in a back alley to 
scramble into the shelter of a tenement house as best they 
can, do you call upon them? Do you invite them to your 
pew ? Do you ever urge and encourage them to enter your 
church? and do you make even one of its corners home- 
like and inviting? 


WARPED. 


103 


I hope so ; but, alas ! that was not the general custom in 
Pushton, and poor Mrs. Lacey had acquired the habit of stay- 
ing at home, her neighbors had become accustomed to call 
her husband a “ dreadful man,” and the family “ very irre- 
ligious,” and as the years passed they seemed to be more and 
more left to themselves. Mr. Lacey had brought his wife 
from a distant town where he had met and married her. She 
was a timid, retiring woman, and time and kindness were 
needed to draw her out. But no one had seemingly thought 
it worth while, and at the time our story takes an interest in 
their affairs, there was a growing isolation. 

All this had a very bad effect upon Arden. As he grew 
out of the democracy of boyhood he met a certain social 
coldness and distance which he learned to understand only 
too early, and soon returned this treatment with increased 
coldness and aversion. Had it not been for the influence 
of his mother and the books he read, he would have inevita- 
bly fallen into low company. But he, had promised his 
mother to shun it. fie saw its result in his father’s con- 
duct, and as he read, and his mind matured, the narrow 
coarseness of such company became repugnant. From time 
to time he was sorely tempted to leave the home which his 
father made hateful in many respects, and try his fortunes 
among strangers who would not associate him with a sot ; 
but his love for his mother kept him at her side, for he saw 
that her life was bound up in him, and that he alone could 
protect her and his sister and keep some sort of a shelter for 
them. In his unselfish devotion to them his character was 
noble. In his harsh cynicism toward the world and espe- 
cially the church people, for whom he had no charity what- 
ever — in his utter hatred and detestation of his father — it 
was faulty, though allowance must be made for him. He 
was also peculiar in other respects, for his unguided read- 
ing was of a nature that fed his imagination at the expense 


104 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ^ 


of his reasoning faculties. Though he drudged in a narrow 
round, and his life was as hard and real as poverty and his 
father’s intemperance could make it, he mentally lived and 
found his solace in a world as large and unreal as an un- 
curbed fancy could create. Therefore his work was hurried 
through mechanically in the old slovenly methods to which 
he had been educated, he caring little for the results, as his 
father squandered these ; and when the necessary toil was 
over, he would lose all sense of the sordid present in the 
pages of some book obtained from the village library. As 
he drove his milk cart to and from town he would sit in the 
chill drizzling rain, utterly oblivious of discomfort, with a 
half smile upon his lips, as he pictured to himself some scene 
of sunny aspect or gloomy castellated grandeur of which his 
own imagination was the architect. The famous in history, 
the heroes and heroines of fiction, and especially the char- 
acters of Shakspeare were more familiar to him than the 
people among whom he lived. From the latter he stood 
more and more aloof, while with the former he held con- 
stant intercourse. He had little in common even witn his 
sister, who was of a very different temperament. But his 
tenderness toward his mothef never failed, and she loved 
him with the passionate intensity of a nature to which love 
was all, but which had found little to satisfy it on earth, and 
was ignorant of the love of God. 

And so the years dragged on to Arden, and his twenty- 
first birthday made him free from his father’s control as he 
practically long had been, but it also found him bound more 
strongly than ever by his mother’s love and need to his old 
home life. 


A DESEJiT ISLAND. 


105 


CHAPTER IX. 


A 1>ESERT ISLAND. 



HE good cry that Edith indulged in on her way to the 


X. boat was a relief to her heart, which had long been 
overburdened. But the necessity of controlling her feelings, 
and the natural buoyancy of youth, enabled her by the time 
they reached the wharf to see that the furniture and baggage 
were properly taken care of. No one could detect the 
traces of grief through her thick veil, or guess from her 
firm, quiet tones, that she felt somewhat as Columbus might 
when going in search of a new world. And yet Edith had 
a hope from her country life which the others did not share 


at all. 


When she was quite a child her feeble health had induced 
her father to let her spend an entire summer in a farm- 
house of the better class, whose owner had some taste for 
flowers and fruit. These she had enjoyed and luxuriated in 
as much as any butterfly of the season, and as she romped 
with the farmer’s children, roamed the fields and woods in 
search of berries, and tumbled in the fragrant hay, health 
came tingling back with a fullness and vigor that had never 
been lost. With all her subsequent enjoyment, that summer 
still dwelt in her memory as the halcyon period of her life, 
and it was with the country she associated it. Every year 
she had longed for July, for then her father would break 
away from business for a couple of months and take them 
to a place of resort. But the fashionable watering places 


I06 IVI/AT' CAN SHE DO? 

were not at all to her taste as compared with that old farm- 
house, and whenever it was possible she would wander oft 
and make ‘‘disreputable acquaintances,” as Mrs. Allen 
termed them, among the farmers’ and laborers’ families in 
the vicinity of the hotel. But by this means she often 
obtained a basket of fruit or bunch of flowers that the 
others were glad to share in. 

In accordance with her practical nature she asked ques- 
tions as to the habits, growth, and culture of trees and fruits, 
so that few city girls situated as she had been knew as much 
about the products of the garden. She had also haunted 
conservatories and green-houses as much as her sisters had 
frequented the costly Broadway temples of fashion, where 
counters are the altars to which the women of the city bring 
their daily offerings ; and as we have seen, a fruit store was 
a place of delight to her. 

The thought that she could now raise without limit fruit, 
flowers, and vegetables on her own place was some compen- 
sation even for the trouble they had passed through and 
the change in their fortunes. 

Moreover she knew that because of their poverty she 
would have to secure from her ground substantial returns, 
and that her gardening must be no amateur trifling, but 
earnest work. Therefore, having found a seat in the saloon 
of the boat, she drew out of her leather bag one of her 
garden-books and some agricultural papers, and commenced 
studying over for the twentieth time the labors proper for 
April. After reading awhile, she leaned back and closed 
her eyes and tried to form such crude plans as were possible 
in her inexperience and her ignorance of a place that she 
had not even seen. 

Opening her eyes suddenly she saw old Hannibal sitting 
near and regarding her wistfullyi 

“ You are a foolish old fellow to stay with us,” she said to 


A DESERT ISLAND. 


107 

him. You could have obtained plenty of nice places in 
the city. What made you do it ? ” 

“ I’se couldn’t gib any good reason to de world, Miss 
Edie, but de one I hab kinder satisfies my ole black 
heart.” 

“Your heart isn’t black, Hannibal.” 

“ How you know dat? ” he asked quickly. 

“ Because I’ve seen it often and often. Sometimes 
think it is whiter than mine. I now and then feel so des- 
perate and wicked, that I am afraid of myself.” 

“ Dere now, you’se worried and worn out and you tinks 
dat’s bein’ wicked.” 

“ No, I’m satisfied it is something worse than that. I 
wonder if God does care about people who are in trouble, 
I mean practically, so as to help them any ? ” 

“ Well, I specs he does,” said Hannibal vaguely. “ But 
den dere’s so many in trouble dat I’m afeard some hab to 
kinder look after demselves.” Then as if a bright thought 
struck him, he added, “I specs he sorter lumps ’em jes as 
Massa Allen did when he said he was sorry for de people 
burned up in Chicago. He sent ’em a big lot ob money 
and den seemed to forget all about ’em.” 

Hannibal had never given much attention to religion, and 
perhaps was not the best authority that Edith could have 
consulted. But his conclusion seemed to secure her con- 
sent, for she leaned back wearily and again closed her eyes 
saying,— 

“Yes, we are mere human atoms, lost sight of in the 
multitude.” 

Soon her deep regular breathing showed that she was 
asleep, and Hannibal muttered softly, — 

“ Bress de child, dat will do her a heap more good dan 
askin’ dem deep questions,” and he watched beside her 
like a large faithful Newfoundland dog. 


I08 WHAT CAN SHE DO? 

At last he touched her elbow and said, “ We get off at 
de next landin’, and I guess we mus’ be pretty nigh dere.” 

Edith started up much refreshed and asked, ^‘What sort 
of an evening is it? ” 

'‘Well, Fse sorry to say it’s rainin’ bard and berry dark.” 

To her dismay she also found that it was nearly nine 
o’clock. The boat had been late in starting, and was so 
heavily laden as to make slow progress against wind and 
tide. Edith’s heart sank within her at the thought of land- 
ing alone in a strange place that dismal night. It was in- 
deed a new experience to her. But she donned her 
waterproof, and the moment the boat touched the wharf, 
hurried ashore, and stood under her small umbrella, while 
her household gods were being hustled out into the drench- 
ing rain. She knew the injury that must result to them 
unless they could speedily be carried into the boat-house 
near. At first there seemed no one to do this save Hanni- 
bal, who at once set to work, but she soon observed a man 
with a lantern gathering up some butter-tubs that the boat 
was landing, and she immediately appealed to him for 
help. 

“ I’m not the dock-master,” was the gruff reply. 

“You are a man, are you not? and one that will not turn 
away from a lady in distress. If my things stand long in 
this rain they will be greatly injured.” 

The man thus adjured turned his lantern on the speaker, 
and while we recognize the features of our acquaintance, 
Arden Lacey, he sees a face on the old dock that quite 
startles him. If Edith had dropped down with the rain, 
she could not have been more unexpected, and with her 
large dark eyes flashing suddenly on him, and her appealing 
yet half-indignant voice breaking in upon the waking dream 
with which he was beguiling the outward misery of the 
night, it seemed as if one of the characters of his fancy had 


A DESERT ISLAND. 


109 


suddenly become real. He who would have passed Edith in 
surly unnoting indifference on the open street in the garish 
light of day, now took the keenest interest in her. He had 
actually been appealed to, as an ancient knight might have 
been, by a damsel in distress, and he turned and helped her 
with a will, which, backed by his powerful strength, soon 
placed her goods under shelter. The lagging dock-master 
politicly kept out of the way till the work was almost done 
and then bustled up and made some show of assisting in 
time for any fees, if they should be offered, but Arden told 
him that since he had kept out of sight so long, he might 
remain invisible, which was the unpopular way the young ^ 
man had. 

When the last article had been placed under shelter Edith 
said, — 

I appreciate your help exceedingly. How much am I 
to pay you for your trouble ? ” 

“ Nothing,” was the rather curt reply. 

The appearance of a lady like Edith, with a beauty that 
seemed weird and strange as he caught glimpses of her face 
by the fitful rays of his lantern, had made a sudden and 
strong impression on his morbid fancy and fitted the wild 
imaginings with which he had occupied the dreary hour of 
waiting for the boat. The presence of her sable attendant 
had increased these impressions. But when she took out 
her purse to pay him his illusions vanished. Therefore the 
abrupt tone in which he said “ Nothing,” and which was 
mainly caused by vexation at the matter-of-fact world that 
continually mocked his unreal one. 

“ I don’t quite understand you,” said Edith. I had no 
intention of employing your time and strength without 
remuneration.” 

I told you I was not the dock-master,” said Arden 
rather coldly. “He’ll take all the fees you will give him. 


no 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


You appealed to me as a man, and said you were in dis* 
tress. I helped you as a man. Good evening.” 

“Stay,” said Edith hastily. “You seem not only a man, 
but a gentleman, and I am tempted, in view of my situation, 
to trespass srtill further on your kindness,” but she hesitated 
a moment. 

It perhaps had never been intimated to Arden before that 
he was a gentleman, certainly never in the tone with which 
Edith spoke, and his fanciful, chivalric nature responded 
at once to the touch of that chord. With the accent of 
voice he ever used toward his mother, he said, — 

“ I am at your service.” 

“ We are strangers here,” continued Edith. “ Is there 
any place near the landing where we can get safe comfort- 
able lodging ? ” 

“ I am sorry to say there is not. The village is a mile 
away.” 

“ How can we get there ? ” 

“Isn’t the stage down?” asked Arden of the dock- 
master. 

“No ! ” was the gruff response. 

“ The night is so bad I suppose they didn’t come. I 
would take you myself in a minute if I had a suitable 
wagon.” 

“Necessity knows no choice,” said Edith quickly. “I 
will go with you in any kind of a wagon, and I surely hope 
you won’t leave me on this lonely dock in the rain.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Arden, reddening in the darkness 
that he could be thought capable of such an act. “ But I 
thought I could drive to the village and send a carriage 
for you.” 

“ I would rather go with you now, if you will let me,” 
said Edith decidedly. 

“ The best I have is at your service, but I fear you will be 


A DESERT ISLAND. 


Ill 


sorry for your choice. I’ve only a board for a seat, and my 
wagon has no springs. Perhaps I could get a low box for 
you to sit on.” 

“Hannibal can sit on the box. With your permission 
I will sit with you, for I wish to ask you some questions.” 

Arden hung his lantern on a hook in front of his wagon, 
and helped or partly lifted Edith over the wheel to the 
seat, which was simply a board resting on the sides of the 
box. He turned a butter-tub upside down for Hannibal, 
and then they jogged out from behind the boat-house where 
he had sheltered his horses. 

This was all a new experience to Arden. He had, from 
his surly misanthropy, little familiarity with society of any 
kind, and since as a boy he had romped with the girls at 
school he had been almost a total stranger to all women save 
those in his own home. Most young men would have been 
awkward louts under the circumstances. But this was not 
true of Arden, for he had daily been holding converse in the 
books he dreamed over with women of finer clay than he 
could have found at Pushton. He would have been exces- 
sively awkward in a drawing-room or any place of conven- 
tional resort, or rather he would have been sullen and 
bearish, but the place and manner in which he had met 
Edith accorded with his romantic fancy, and the darkness 
shielded his rough exterior from observation 

Moreover, the presence of this flesh and-blood woman 
at his side gave him different sensations from the stately 
dames, or even the most piquant maidens that had smiled 
upon him in the shadowy scenes of his imagination ; and 
when at times, as the wagon jolted heavily, she grasped his 
arm for a second to steady herself, it seemed as if the dusky 
little figure at his side was a sort of human electric battery 
charged with that subtile fluid which some believe to be 
the material life of the universe. Every now and then as 


H2 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


they bounced over a stone, the lantern would bob up and 
throw a ray on a face like those that had looked out upon 
him from those plays of Shakspeare the scenes of which are 
laid in Italy. 

Thus the dark, chilly, rainy night was becoming the most 
luminous period of his life. Reason and judgment act 
slowly, but imagination takes fire. 

But to poor Edith all was real and dismal enough, and 
she often sighed heavily. To Arden each sigh was an appeal 
for sympathy. He had driven as rapidly as he dared in the 
darkness to get her out of the rain, but at last she said 
clinging to his arm, — 

Won’t you drive slowly? The jolting has given me a 
pain in my side.” 

He was conscious of a new and peculiar sensation there 
also, though not from jolting. He had been used to that in 
many ways all his life, but thereafter they jogged forward 
on a walk through the drizzling rain, and Edith, recov- 
ering her breath, and a sense of security, began to ask the 
questions. 

Do you know where the cottage is that was formerly 
owned by Mr. Jenks? ” 

“ Oh, yes, it’s not far from our house — between our house 
and the village.” Then as if a sudden thought struck him 
he added quickly, ''I heard it was sold; are you the 
owner?” 

Yes,” said Edith a little coolly. She had expected to 

question and not to be questioned. And yet she was very 

glad she had met one who knew about her place. But 

she resolved to be non-committal till she knew more about 

him. 

“What sort of a house is it?” she asked after a moment. 
“ I have never seen it.” 

“ Well, it’s not very large, and I fear it is somewhat out 


A DESERT ISLAND. II3 

of repair — at least it looks .so, and I should think a new 
roof was needed.” 

Edith could not help saying pathetically, Oh, dear ! I’m 
so sorry.” 

Arden then added hastily, “ But it’s a kind of a pretty 
place too — a great many fruit-trees and grape-vines on it.” 

“ So I’ve been told,” said Edith. “ And that will be its 
chief attraction to me.” 

Then you are going to live there ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Arden’s heart gave a sudden throb. Then he would see 
this mysterious stranger often. But he smiled half bitterly 
in the darkness as he queried, “ What will she appear like 
in the daylight ? ” 

Her next question broke the spell he was under utterly. 
They were passing through the village and the little hotel 
was near, and she naturally asked, — 

“To whom am I indebted for all this kindness ? I am 
glad to know so much as that you are my neighbor.” 

Suddenly and painfully conscious of his outward life and 
surroundings, he answered briefly, — 

“ My name is Arden Lacey. We have a small farm a 
little beyond your cottage.” 

Wondering at his change of tone and manner, Edith still 
ventured to ask, — 

“ And do you know of any one who could bring my furni- 
ture and things up to-morrow?” 

As he sometimes did that kind of work, an impulse to see 
more of her impelled him to say, — 

“ I suppose I can do it. I work for a living.” 

“I am sure that is nothing against you,” said Edith 
kindly. 

“ You will not live long in Pushton before learning that 
there is something against us,” was the bitter reply. “But 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


II4 

that need not prevent my working for you, as I do for 
others. If you wish, I will make a fire in your house early, 
to take off the chill and dampness, and then go for your 
furniture. The people here will send you out in a carriage.” 

“I shall be greatly obliged if you will do so and let me 
pay you.” 

Oh, certainly, I will charge the usual rates.” 

‘‘Well, then, how much for to-night?” said Edith as she 
stood in the hotel door. 

“To-night is another affair,” and he jumped into his 
wagon and rattled away in the darkness, his lantern looking 
like a “will-o’-the-wisp” that might vanish altogether. 

The landlord received Edith and her attendant with a 
gruff civiljty, and gave her in charge of his wife, who was a 
bustling red-faced woman with a sort of motherly kindness 
about her. 

“ Why, you poor child,” she said to Edith, turning her 
round before the light, “you’re half drowned. You must 
have something hot right away, or you’ll take your death 
o’ cold,” and with something of her husband’s faith in 
whiskey, she soon brought Edith a hot punch that for a few 
moments seemed to make the girl’s head spin, but as it was 
followed by strong tea and toast, she felt none the worse, 
and danger from the chill and wet was effectually dis- 
posed of. 

As she sat sipping her tea before a red-hot stove, she 
told, in answer to the landlady’s questions, how she had got 
up from the boat. 

“ Who is this Lacey, and what is there against them ? ” 
she asked suddenly. 

The hostess went across the hall, opened the bar-room 
door, and beckoned Edith to follow her. 

In a chair by the stove sat a miserable bloated wreck of 
a man, drivelling and mumbling in a drunken lethargy. 


A DESERT ISLAND. 


II5 

“That’s his father,” said the woman in a whisper. 
“ When he gets as bad as that he comes here because he 
knows my husband is the only one as won’t turn him out 
of doors.” 

An expression of intense disgust flitted across Edith’s 
face, and by the necessary law of association poor Arden 
sank in her estimation through the foulness of his father’s 
vice. 

“ Is there anything against the son ? ” asked Edith in 
some alarm. “ I’ve engaged him to bring up my furniture 
and trunks. I hope he’s honest.” 

“ Oh, yes, he’s honest enough, and he’d be mighty mad 
if anybody questioned that, but he’s kind o’ soured and 
ugly, and don’t notice nobody nor nothing. The son and 
Mrs. Lacey keep to themselves, the man does as you see, 
but the daughter, who’s a smart pretty girl, tries to rise 
above it all, and make her way among the rest of the girls ; 
but she has a hard time of it, I guess, poor child.” 

“ I don’t wonder,” said Edith, “with such a father.” 

But between the punch and fatigue, she was glad to take 
refuge from the landlady’s garrulousness, and all her troubles 
in quiet sleep. 

The next morning the storm was passing away in broken 
masses of cloud, through which the sun occasionally shone 
in April-like uncertainty. 

After an early breakfast she and Hannibal were driven in 
an open wagon to what was to be her future home — the 
scene of unknown joys and sorrows. 

The most memorable places, where the mightiest events 
of the world have transpired, can never have for us the 
interest of that humble spot where the little drama of our 
own life will pass from act to act till our exit. 

Most eagerly did Edith note everything as revealed by 
the broad light of day. The village, though irregular, had 


ii6 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


a general air of thriftiness and respectability. The street 
through which she was riding gradually fringed off, from 
stores and offices, into neat homes, farm-houses, and here 
and there the abodes of the poor, till at last, three-quar- 
ters of a mile out. she saw a rather quaint little cottage with 
a roof steeply sloping and a long low porch. 

‘‘That’s your place, miss,” said the driver. 

Edith’s intent eyes took in the general effect with some- 
thing of the practised rapidity with which she mastered a 
lady’s toilet on the avenue. 

In spite of her predisposition to be pleased, the prospect 
was depressing. The season was late and patcl es of discol- 
ored show lay here and there, and were piled up along the 
fences. The garden and trees had a neglected look. The 
vines that clambered up the porch had been untrimmed 
of the last year’s growth, and sprawled in every direction. 
The gate hung from one hinge, and many palings were 
off the fence, and all had a sodden, dingy appearance from 
the recent rains. The house itself looked so dilapidated 
and small, in contrast with their stately mansion on Fifth 
Avenue, that irrepressible tears came into her eyes, as she 
murmured, — 

“ It will kill mother just to see it.” 

Old Hannibal said in a low, encouraging tone, “ It’ll look 
a heap better next June, Miss Edie.” 

But Edith dropped her veil to hide her feelings, and 
shook her head. 

They got down before the rickety gate, took out the 
basket of provisions which Hannibal had secured, paid the 
driver, who splashed away through the mud as a boat might 
that had landed and left two people on a desert island. 
They walked up the oozy path with hearts about as chill and 
empty as the unfurnished cottage before them. 

But utter repulsiveness had been taken away by a bright 


A DESERT ISLAND. 


II7 

fire that Arden had kindled on the hearth of the largest 
room j and when lighting it he had been so romantic as to 
dream of the possibility of kindling a more sacred fire in a 
heart that he knew now to be as cold to him as the chilly 
room in which he shivered. 

Poor Arden ! If he could have seen the expression on 
Edith’s face the night previous, as she looked on his be- 
sotted father, he would have cursed more bitterly tlwo ever 
what he termed the blight of his life. 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Il8 


CHAPTER X. 

EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY.” 

A S the wrecked would hasten up the strand and explore 
eagerly in various directions in order to gain some 
idea of the nature and resources of the place where they 
might spend months and even years, so Edith hurriedly 
passed from one room to another, looking the house over 
first, as their place of refuge and centre of life, and then 
went out to a spot from which she could obtain a view of : 
the garden, the little orchard, and the pasture field. ^ 

The house had three rooms on the first floor, as many on 
the second, and a very small attic. There was also a pretty 
good cellar, though it looked to Edith like a black dismal 
hole, and was full of rubbish and old boxes. 

The entrance of the house was at the commencement 
of the porch, which ran along under the windows of the 
large front room. Back of this was one much smaller, and j 
doors opened from both the apartments named into a long 1 
and rather narrow room running the full depth of the 
house, and which had been designed as the kitchen. With | 
the families that would naturally occupy a house of this | 
character, it would have been the general living-room. To ] 
Edith’s eyes, accustomed to magnificent spaces and lofty | 
ceilings, these apartments seemed stifling dingy cells. The : 
walls were broken in places and discolored by smoke. With i 
the exception of the large room there were no places for j 
open fires, but only holes for stovepipes. I 


EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY: 


II9 


How can such a place as this ever look homelike ? ” 

The muddy garden, with its patches of snow, its forlorn 
and neglected air, its spreading vines and the thickly stand- 
ing stalks of last year’s weeds, was even less inviting. 
Edith had never seen the country in winter, and the gar- 
dens of her experience were full of green, beautiful life. 
Tlie orchard looked not only gaunt and bare, but very un- 
tidy. The previous year had been most abundant in fruit, 
and the trees were left to bear at will. Therefore many 
of the limbs were wholly or partly broken off, and lay scat- 
tered where they fell, or still hung by a little of the woody 
fibre and bark. 

Edith came back to the fire from the survey of her future 
home, not only chilled in body by the raw April winds, but 
more chilled in heart. Though she had not expected summer 
greenness and a sweet inviting home, yet the reality was so 
dreary and forbidding, from its necessary contrasj; with the 
past, that she sank down on the floor, and buried her head 
in her lap in an uncontrollable passion of grief. Hannibal 
was out gathering wood to replenish the fire, and it was a 
luxury to be alone a few minutes with her sorrow. 

But soon she had the consciousness that she was not 
alone, and looking up, saw Arden in the door, with a grave 
troubled face. Hastily turning from him, and wiping away 
her tears, she said rather coldly, — 

“ You should have knocked. The house is my home, if it 
is empty.” 

His face changed instantly to its usual hard sullen aspect, 
and he said briefly, — 

I did knock.” 

“The landlady has told her all about us,” he thought, 
“and she rejects sympathy and fellowship from such as 
we are.” 

But Edith’s feeling had only been annoyance that a' 


120 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO t 


Stranger had seen her emotion, so she said quickly, I beg 
your pardon. We have had trouble, but I don’t give way 
in this manner often. Have you brought a load ? ” 

^‘Yes. If your servant will help me I will bring the 
things in.” 

As he and Hannibal carried in heavy rolls of carpet and 
other articles, Edith removed as far as possible the traces 
of her grief, and soon began to scan by the light of day 
with some curiosity her acquaintance of the previous even- 
ing. He was the very opposite to herself in appearance. 
Her eyes were large and dark. He had a rather small but 
piercing blue eye. His locks were light and curly, and his 
beard sandy. Her hair was brown and straight. He was 
fully six feet tall, while she was only of medium height. 
And yet Edith was not a brunette, but possessed a com- 
plexion of transparent delicacy which gave her the fragile 
appearance characteristic of so many American girls. His 
face was much tanned by exposure to March winds, but his 
brow was as white as hers. In his morbid tendency to shun 
every one, he usually kept his eyes fixed on the ground so 
as to appear not to see people, and this, with his habitual 
frown, gave a rather heavy and repelling expression to his 
face. 

“ He would make a very good representative of the labor- 
ing classes,” she thought, if he hadn’t so disagreeable an 
expression.” 

It had only dimly dawned upon poor Edith as yet that 
she now belonged to the “ laboring classes.” 

But her energetic nature soon reacted against idle griev- 
ing, and her pale cheeks grew rosy, and her face full of eager 
life as she assisted and directed. 

If I only had one or two women to help me we could 
soon get things settled,” she said, “ and I have so little time 
before the rest come.” 


EDITH BECOMES A '^DIVINITY: 


I2I 


Then she added suddenly to Arden, “ Haven’t you sis- 
ters? ” 

“My sister does not go out to service,” said Arden 
proudly. 

“Neither do I,” said the shrewd Edith, “but I would be 
willing to help any one in such an emergency as I am 
in,” and she glanced keenly to see the effect of this speech, 
while she thought, “ What airs these people put on ! ” 

Arden’s face changed instantly. Her words seemed like 
a ray of sunlight falling on a place before shadowed, for the 
sullen frowning expression passed into one almost of gentle- 
ness, as he said, — 

“ That puts things in a different light. I am sure Rose 
and mother both will be willing to help you as neighbors,” 
and he started for another load, going around by the way 
of his home and readily obtaining from his mother and 
sister a promise to assist Edith after dinner. 

Edith smiled to herself and said, “ I have found the key to 
his surly nature already.” She had, and to many other 
natures also. Kindness and human fellowship will unbar 
and unbolt where all other forces may clamor in vain. 

Arden went away in a maze of new sensations. This one 
woman of all the world beside his mother and sister that he 
had come to know somewhat was to him a strange, beauti- 
ful mystery. Edith was in many respects conventional, as 
all society girls are, but it was the conventionality of a 
sphere of life that Arden knew only through books, and she 
seemed to him utterly different from the ladies of Pushton 
as he understood them from his slight acquaintance. This 
difference was all in her favor, for he cherished a bitter and 
unreasonable prejudice against the young girls of his neigh- 
borhood as vain shallow creatures who never read, and 
thought of nothing save dress and beaux. His own sister 
in fact had helped to confirm these impressions, for while 


122 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


he was fond of her and kind, he had no great admiration 
for her, saying in his sweeping cynicism, “ She is like the 
rest of them.” If he had met Edith only in the street and 
in conventional ways, stylishly dressed, he would scarcely 
have noticed her. But her half-indignant, half-pathetic 
appeal to him on the dock, the lonely ride in which she had 
clung to his arm for safety, her tears, and the manner in 
which she had last spoken to him, had all combined to 
pierce thoroughly his shell of sullen reserve ; and, as we 
have said, his vivid imagination had taken fire. 

Edith and Hannibal worked hard the rest of the forenoon, 
and her experienced old attendant was invaluable. Edith 
herself, though having little practical knowledge of work of 
any kind, had vigor and natural judgment, and her small 
white hands accomplished more than one would suppose. 

‘ So Arden wonderingly thought on his return with a second 
load, as he saw her lift and handle things that he knew to 
be heavy. Her short close-fitting working-dress outlined 
her fine figure to advantage, and with complexion bright and 
dazzling with exercise, she seemed to him some frail fairy- 
like creature doomed by a cruel fate to unsuited toil and 
sorrows. But Edith was very matter-of-fact, and had never 
in all her life thought of herself as a fairy. 

Arden went home to dinner, and by one o’clock Edith 
said to Hannibal, — 

“There is one good thing about the place if no other. 
It gives one a savage appetite. What have you got in the 
basket?” 

“A scrumptious lunch. Miss Edie. I told de landlady 
you’se used to havin’ things mighty nice, and den I found 
a hen’s nest in de barn dis mornin’.” 

“ I hope you didn’t take the eggs, Hannibal,” said Edith 
slyly. 

“ Sartin I did. Miss Edie, cause if I didn’t de rats would.” 


EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY.' 


123 

Perhaps the landlady would also if you had shown them 
to her.” 

“Miss Edie,” said Hannibal solemnly, “ findin’ a hen’s 
nest is like findin’ a gold mine. It belongs to de one dat 
finds it.” 

“ I’m afraid that wouldn’t stand in law. Suppose we 
were arrested for robbing hens’ nests. That wouldn’t be a 
good introduction to our new neighbors.” 

“Now, Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, with an injured air, 
“you don’t spec I do a job like dat so bungly as to get 
cotched at it ? ” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Edith, laughing, “ since you have 
conformed to the morality of the age, it must be ail right, 
and a fresh egg would be a rich treat now that it can be 
eaten with a clear conscience. But, Hannibal, I wish you 
would find a gold mine out in the garden.” 

“ I guess you’se find dat with all your readin’ about straw- 
berries and other yarbs.” 

“ I hope so,” said Edith with a sigh, “ for I don’t see how 
we are going to live here year after year.” 

“ You’se be rich again. De men wid de long pusses aint 
agoin’ to look at your black eyes for nothin’,” and Hannibal 
chuckled knowingly. 

The color faintly deepened in Edith’s cheeks, but she 
said with some scorn, “ Men with long purses want girls with 
the same. But who are these ? ” 

Coming up the path they saw a tall middle-aged woman, 
and by her side a young girl of about eighteen who was a 
marked contrast to her in appearance. 

“ Dey’s his moder and sister. You will drive tings dis 
arternoon.” 

Mrs. Lacey and her daughter entered with some little 
hesitancy and embarrassment, but Edith, with the poise of 
an accomplished lady, at once put them at ease by saying, — 


124 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ It is exceedingly kind of you to come and help, and I 
appreciate it very much.” 

“ No one should refuse to be neighborly,” said Mrs. 
Lacey quietly. 

“ And to tell the truth I was delighted to come,” said 
Rose, ‘‘the winter has been so long and dull.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” thought Edith, “ if you find them so, what 
will be our fate? ” 

Mrs. Lacey undid a bundle and took out a teapot from 
which the steam yet oozed faintly, and Rose undid another 
containing some warm buttered biscuits, Mrs. Lacey saying, 
“ I thought your lunch might seem a little cold and cheerless, 
so I brought these along.” 

“Now that is kind,” said Edith, so cordially that their 
faces flushed with that natural pleasure which we all feel 
when our little efforts for others are appreciated. To them 
it was intensified, for Edith was a grand city lady, and the 
inroads that she made on the biscuits, and the zest with 
which she sipped her tea, showed that her words had the 
ring of truth. 

“ Do sit down and eat, while things are nice and warm,” 
she said to Hannibal. “ There’s no use in our putting on 
airs now,” but Hannibal insisted on waiting upon her as 
when he was butler in the great dining-room on the avenue, 
and when she was through, carried the things off to the 
empty kitchen, and took his “ bite ” on a packing box, pref- 
acing it as his nearest approach to grace by an indignant 
grunt and profession of his faith. 

“Dis ole niggah eat before her? Not much! She’s 
quality now as much as eber.” 

But the world and Hannibal were at variance on account 
of a sum of subtraction which had taken away from Edith’s 
name the dollar symbol. 

Edith set to work, her helpers now increased to three, 


EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY.' 


125 


with renewed zest, and from time to time stole glances at 
the mother and daughter to see what the natives were like. 

They were very different in appearance : the mother 
looking prematurely old, and she also seemed bent and 
stooping under the heavy burdens of life. Her dark blue 
eyes had a weary pathetic look, as if some sorrow was ever 
before them. Her cheek bones were prominent and her 
cheeks sunken, and the thin hair, brushed plainly under her 
cap, was streaked with gray. Her quietness and reserve 
seemed rather the result of a crushed, sad heart than of 
natural lack of feeling. 

The daughter was in the freshest bloom of youth, and 
was not unlike the flower she was named after, when, as a 
dewy bud, it begins to develop under the morning sun. 
Though not a beautiful girl, there was a prettiness, a rural 
breeziness about her, that would cause any one to look twice 
as she passed. The wind ever seemed to be in her light 
flaxen curls, and her full rounded figure suggested supera- 
bundant vitality, an impression increased by her quick, rest- 
less motions. Her complexion reminded you of strawberries 
and cream, and her blue eyes had a slightly bold and defi- 
ant expression. She felt the blight of her father’s course 
also, but it acted differently on her temperament. Instead 
of timidly shrinking from the w’orld like her mother, or 
sullenly ignoring it like her brother, she was for going into 
society and compelling it to recognize and respect her. 

“ I have done nothing wrong,” she said ; “ I insist on 
people treating me in view of what I am myself,” and in the 
sanguine spirit of youth she hoped to carry her point. 
Therefore her manner was a little self-asserting, which would 
not have been the case had she not felt that she had preju- 
dice to overcome. Unlike her brother, she cared little for 
books, and had no ideal world, but lived vividly in her 
immediate surroundings. The older she grew, the duller 


126 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


and more monotonous did her home life seem. She had 4 
little sympathy from her brother ; her mother was a sad, 
silent woman, and her father a daily source of trouble and 
shame. Her education was very imperfect, and she had no 
resource in . this, while her daily work seemed a tiresome 
round that brought little return. Her mother attended to 
the more important duties and gave to her the lighter tasks, 
which left her a good deal of leisure. She had no work 
that stimulated her, no training that made her thorough in 
any department of labor, however humble. From a friend, 
a dressmaker in the village, she obtained a little fancy work 
and sewing, and the proceeds resulting, and all her brother 
gave her, she spent in dress. The sums were small enough 
in all truth, and yet with the marvellous ingenuity that some 
girls, fond of dress, acquire, she made a very little go a great 
way, and she would often appear in toilets that were quite 
effective. With those of her own age and sex in her narrow 
little circle, she was not a special favorite, but she was with 
the young men, for she was bright, chatty, and had the 
knack of putting awkward fellows at ease. She kept her 
little parlor as pretty and inviting as her limited materials 
permitted, and with a growing impeiiousness gave the rest 
of the family, and especially her father, to understand that 
this parlor was her domain, and that she would permit no 
intrusion. Clerks from the village and farmers’ sons would 
occasionally drop in of an evening, though they preferred 
taking her out to ride where they could see her away from 
her home. But the more respectable young men, with ! 

anxious mothers and sisters, were rather shy of poor Rose, ■ 

and none seemed to care to go beyond a mild flirtation with o 
a girl whose father was “on the^ rampage,” as they expressed j 
it, most of the time. On one occasion, when she had two ! 
young friends spending the evening, her father came home | 
reckless and wild with drink, and his language toward the j 


EDITH BECOMES A DIVINITY, 


127 


young men was so shocking, and his manner in general so 
outrageous, that they were glad to get away. If Arden had 
not come home and collared his father, carrying him off to 
his room by his almost irresistible strength, Rose’s parlor 
might have become a sad wreck, literally as well as socially. 
As it was, it seemed deserted for a long time, and she felt 
very bitter about it. In her fearless frankness, her determi- 
nation not to succumb to her sinister surroundings, (and 
perhaps from the lack of a sensitive delicacy,) she re- 
proached the same young men when she met them for stay- 
ing away, saying, “ It’s a shame to treat a girl as if she were 
to blame for what she can’t help.” 

But Rose’s ambition had put on a phase against which 
circumstances were too strong, and she was made to feel 
in her struggle to gain a social footing that her father’s 
leprosy had tainted her, and her brother’s “ ugly, sullen dis- 
position,” as it was termed, was a hindrance also. She had 
an increasing desire to get away among strangers, where she 
could make her own way on hei own merits, and the city of 
New York seemed to her a great Eldorado, where she might 
find her true career. Some very showily dressed, knowing- 
looking girls, that she had met at a picnic, had increased this 
longing for the city. Her mother and brother thought her 
restless, vain, and giddy, but she was as good and honest a 
girl at heart as breathed, only her vigorous nature chafed at 
repression, wanted outlets, and could not settle down for 
life to cook, wash, and sew for a drunken father, a taciturn 
brother, or even a mother whose companionship was depress- 
ing, much as she was loved. 

Rose welcomed the request of her brother, as helping 
Edith would cause a ripple in the current of her dull life, 
and give her a chance of seeing one of the grand city ladies, 
without the dimness and vagueness of distance, and she 
scanned Edith with a stronger curiosity than was bestowed 


128 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


upon herself. The result was rather depressing to poor 
Rose, for, having studied with her quick nice eye Edith’s 
exquisite manner and movements, she sighed to herself, — 

“ I’m not such a lady as this girl, and perhaps never can be.” 

While Edith was very kind and cordial to the Laceys, she 
felt, and made them feel, that there was a vast social dis- 
tance between them. Even practical Edith had not yet 
realized her poverty, and it would take her some time to 
doff the manner of the condescending lady. 

They accomplished a great deal that afternoon, but it 
takes much time and labor to make even a small empty 
house look home-like. Edith had taken the smallest room 
upstairs, and by evening it was quite in order for her occu- 
pation, she meaning to take Zell in with her. Work had 
progressed in the largest upper room, which she designed 
for her mother and Laura. Mrs. Lacey and Hannibal were 
in the kitchen getting that arranged, they very rightly con- 
cluding that this was the main spring in the mechanism of 
material living, and should be put in readiness at once. 
Arden had been instructed to purchase and bring from the 
village a cooking-stove, and Hannibal’s face shone with 
something like delight, as by five o’clock he had a wood fire 
crackling underneath a pot of water, feeling that the terra 
firma of comfort was at last reached. He could now soak 
in his favorite beverage of tea, and make Miss Edie quite 
pertlike ” too when she was tired. 

Mrs. Lacey worked silently. Rose was inclined to be 
chatty and draw Edith out in regard to city life. She 
responded good-naturedly as long as Rose confined herself 
to generalities, but was inclined to be reticent on their own 
affairs. 

Before dark the Laceys prepared to return, the mother 
saying gravely, — 

‘‘You may feel it too lonely to stay by yourself. Our 


EDITH BECOMES A “ D/F/JV/TVT 1 29 

house is not very inviting, and my husband’s manner is not 
always what I could wish, but such as it is, you will be wel- 
come in it till the rest of your family comes.” 

“ You are very kind to a stranger,” said Edith, heartily, 
“ but I am not a bit afraid to stay here ^ince I have Hanni- 
bal as protector,” and Hannibal, elated by this compliment, 
looked as if he might be a very dragon to all intruders. 
“ Moreover,” continued Edith, ‘‘ you have helped me so 
splendidly that I shall be very comfortable, and they will be 
here to-morrow night.” 

Mrs. Lacey bowed silently, but Rose said in her sprightly 
voice, from the doorway, — 

“ I’ll come and help you all day to-morrow.” 

Arden was still to bring one more load. The setting sun, 
with the consistency of an April day, had passed into a dark 
cloud which soon came driving on with wind and rain, and 
the thick drops dashed against the windows as if thrown 
from a vast syringe, while the gutter gurgled and groaned 
with the sudden rush of water. 

“ Oh, dear ! how dismal ! ” sighed Edith looking out in the 
gathering darkness. Then she saw that the loaded wagon 
had just stopped at the gate, and in dim outline Arden sat 
in the storm as if he had been a post. “ It’s too bad,” she 
said impatiently, “my things will all get wet.” After a 
moment she added: “Why don’t he come in? Don’t he 
know enough to come in out of the rain ? ” 

“Well, Miss Edie, he’s kind o’ quar,” said Hannibal, 
“ I’se jes done satisfied he’s quar.” 

But the shower ceased suddenly, and Arden dismounted, 
secured his horses, and soon appeared at the door with a 
piece of furniture. 

“ Why, it’s not wet,” said Edith with surprise. 

“ I saw appearances of rain, and so borrowed a piece of 
canvas at the dock.” 


130 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“But you didn’t put the canvas over yourself,” said Edith, 
looking at his dripping form, grateful enough now to bestow 
a little kindness without the idea of policy. “ As soon as 
you have brought in the load I insist on your staying and 
taking a cup of tea.” 

He gave his shoulders an indifferent shrug, saying, “A 
little cold water is the least of my troubles.” Then he 
added, stealing a timid glance at her, “But you are very 
kind. People seldom think of their teamsters.” 

“The more shame to them then,” said Edith. “I at 
least can feel a kindness if I can’t make much return. It 
was very good of you to protect my furniture, and I appre- 
ciate your care. Besides your mother and sister have been 
helping me all the afternoon, and I am oppressed by my 
obligations to you all.” 

“ I am "sorry you feel that way,” he said briefly, and van- 
ished in the darkness after another load. 

Soon all was safely housed, and he said, about to depart, 
“ There is one more load ; I will bring that to-morrow.” 

From the kitchen she called, '‘‘Stay, your tea will be 
ready in a moment.” 

“Do not put yourself to that trouble,’' he answered, at 
the same time longing to stay. “ Mother will have supper 
ready for me.” He was so diffident that he needed much 
encouragement, and moreover he was morbidly sensitive. 

But as she turned she caught his wistful glance, and 
thought to herself, “ Poor fellow ! he’s cold and hungry.” 
With feminine shrewdness she said, “ Now, Mr. Lacey, 1 
shall feel slighted if you don’t take a cup of my tea, for see, 
I have made it myself. It’s the one thing about housekeep- 
ing that I understand. Your mother brought me a nice cup 
at noon, and I enjoyed it very much. I am going to pay 
that debt now to you.” 

“ Well— if you really wish it ” — said Arden hesitatingly, 


EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY." 1 3 I 

with another of his bright looks, and color even deeper than 
the ruddy firelight warranted. 

My conscience ! ” thought Edith, how suddenly his 
face changes. He is ‘quar,’ as Hannibal says.” But she 
settled matters by saying, “ I shall feel hurt if you don’t. 
You must let there be at least some show of kindness on my 
part, as well as on yours and your friends’.” 

There came in again a delicate touch of that human fel- 
lowship which he had never found in the world, and had 
seemingly repelled, but which his soul was thirsting for with 
an intensity never so realized before, and this faintest sem- 
blance of human companionship and sympathy seemed in- 
expressibly sweet to his sore and lonely heart. 

He took the cup from her as if it had been a sacrament, 
and was about to drink it standing, but she placed a chair 
at the table and said, — 

*‘No, sir, you must sit down there in comfort by the 
fire.” 

He did so as if in a dream. The whole scene was taking 
a powerful hold on his imagination. 

“ Hannibal,” she cried, raising her voice in a soft, birdlike 
call, and from the dim kitchen whence certain spluttering 
sounds had preceded him, Hannibal appeared with a heap- 
ing plate of buttered toast. 

“ With your permission,” she said, I will sit down and 
take a cup of tea with you, in a neighborly way, for I wish 
to ask you some more questions, and tea, you know, is a 
great incentive to talk,” and she took a chair on the oppo- 
site side of the table, while Hannibal stood a little in the 
background to wait on them with all the formality of the 
olden time. 

The wood fire blazed and crackled, and threw its flicker- 
ing light over Edith’s fair face, and intensified her beauty, 
as her features gleamed out, or faded, as the flames rose and 


132 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


fell. Hannibal stood motionless behind her chair as if he 
might have been an Ethiopian slave attendant on a young 
sultana. To Arden’s aroused imagination, it seemed like 
one of the scenes of his fancy, and he was almost afraid to 
move or speak, lest all should vanish, and he find himself 
plodding along the dark muddy road. 

“ What is the matter? ” she asked curiously. “Why don’t 
you drink your tea? ” 

“ It all seems as strange and beautiful as a fairy tale,” he 
said, looking at her earnestly. 

Her hearty laugh and matter-of-fact tone dispelled his 
illusion, as she said, — 

“ It’s all dreadfully real to me. I feel as if I had done 
more work to-day than in all my life before, and we have 
only made a beginning. I want to ask you about the place 
and the garden, and how to get things done,” and she plied 
him well with the most practical questions. 

Sometimes he answered a little incoherently, for through 
them all he saw a face full of strange weird beauty, as the 
firelight flickered upon it, and gave a star-like lustre to 
the large dark eyes. 

Hannibal, in the background, grinned and chuckled 
silently, as he saw Arden’s dazed wondering admiration, 
saying to himself, “ Dey ain’t used to such young ladies as 
mine, up here — it kind o’ dazzles ’em.” 

At last as if breaking away from the influence of a spelq 
Arden suddenly rose, turning upon Edith one of those warm 
bright looks that he sometimes gave his mother, and said.. 
“ You have been very kind ; good night,” and was gone in 
a moment. But the night was luminous about him. Along 
the muddy road, in the old barn as he cared for his horses, 
in his poor little room at home, to which he soon retired, he 
saw only the fair face of Edith, with the firelight playing 
upon it, with the vividness of one looking directly upon an 


EDITH BECOMES A “ DIVINITY: 


133 


exquisite cabinet picture, and before that picture his heart 
was inclined to bow, in the most devoted homage. 

Edith’s only comment was, “ He is ‘ quar,’ Hannibal, as 
you said.” 

Wearied with the long day’s work, she soon found wel- 
come and <ireamless rest. 


134 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XI. 


MRS. ALLEN’S POLICY. 


RUE to her promise, Rose helped Edith all the next 



1 day, and while she worked, the frank-hearted girl 
poured out the story of her troubles, and Edith came to 
have a greater respect and sympathy for 1 er “ kind and 
humble neighbors ” as she characterized them in her own 
mind. Still with her familiarity with the farming class, kept 
up since her summer in the country as a child, she made a 
broad distinction between them and the mere laborer. 
Moreover the practical girl wished to conciliate the Laceys 
and every one else she could, for she had a presentiment 
that there were many trials before them, and that they 
would need friends. She said in answer to Rose, — 

“ I never realized before that the world was so full of 
trouble. We have seen plenty of late.” 

“ One can bear any kind of trouble better than a daily 
shame,” said Rose bitterly. 

For some unexplained reason Edith thought of Zell and 
Mr. Van Dam with a sudden pang. 

Arden brought his last load and watched eagerly /or her 
appearance, fearing that there might be some great falling 
off in the vision of the past evening. 

But to his eyes the girl he was learning to glorify pre- 
sented as fair an exterior in the garish day, and the reality 
of her beauty became a fixed fact in his consciousness, and 
his fancy had already begun to endow her with angelic 


MJ^S. ALLEN'S POLICY. 


135 


qualities. With all her vanity, even sorrowful Edith would 
have laughed heartily at his ideal of her. It was one of the 
hardest ordeals of his life to take the money she paid him,, 
and she saw and wondered at his repugnance. 

“You will never get rich,” she said, “if you are so prodi- 
gal in work, and so spare in your charges.” 

“ I would rather not take anything,” he said dubiously,, 
holding the money, as if it were a coal of fire, between his 
thumb and finger. 

“ Then I must find some one who will do business on busi- 
ness principles,” she said coldly. “ If the fellow has any 
sentimental nonsense about him. I’ll soon cure that,” she 
thought. 

Arden colored, thrust his money carelessly into his 
pocket as if it were of no account, and said briefly,. 
“Good morning.” 

But when alone he put the money in the innermost part 
of his pocketbook, and when his father asked him for some 
of it, he sternly answered, — 

“No, sir, not a cent.” Nor did he spend it himself; 
why he kept it, could scarcely have been explained. He 
was simply acting according to the impulses of a morbid 
romantic nature that had been suddenly and deeply im- 
pressed. The mother’s quick eye detected a change in him 
and she asked, — 

“What do you think of our new neighbor?” 

“ Mother,” said he fervently, “ she is an angel.” 

“ My poor boy,” said she anxiously, “ take care. Don’t 
let your fancy run away with you.” 

“ Oh,” said he with assumed indifference, “ one can 
have a decided opinion of a good thing as well as a bad 
thing, without making a fool of one’s self.” 

But the mother saw with a half- jealous pang that her son’s 
heart was awaking to a new and stronger love than her own. 


136 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Mrs. Allen with Zell and Laura was to come by the boat 
that evening, and Edith’s heart yearned after them as her 
kindred. Now that she had had a little experience of lone- 
liness and isolation, she deeply regretted her former harsh- 
ness and impatience, saying to herself, “ It is harder for 
them than for me. They don’t like the country, and don’t 
care anything about a garden,” and she purposed to be very 
gentle and long suffering. 

If good resolutions were only accomplished certainties as 
soon as made, how different life would be ! 

Arden had ordered a close carriage that she might go 
down and meet them, and had agreed to bring up their 
trunks and boxes in his large w'agon. 

The boat fortunately landed under the clear starlight on 
this occasion, and feeble Mrs. Allen was soon seated com- 
fortably in the carriage. But her every breath was a sigh, 
and she regarded the martyrs as a favored class in compari- 
son with herself. Laura still had her look of dreary apathy ; 
but Zell’s face wore an expression of interest in the new 
scenes and experiences, and she plied Edith with many 
questions as she rode homeward. Mrs. Allen brought a 
servant up with her who was condemned to ride with Arden, 
much to their mutual disgust. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Edith as they rode along. It’s a 
dreadful come-down for us all and I don’t know how you 
are going to stand it, mother.” 

Mrs. Allen’s answer was a long inarticulate sigh. 

When she reached the house and entered the room 
where supper was awaiting them, she glanced around as a 
prisoner might on being thrust into a cell in which years 
must be spent, and then she dropped into a chair, sob- 
bing, — 

“ How different — how different from all my past ! ” and 
for a few moments they all cried together. As with Edith 


M/^S. ALLEAr^S POLICY, 


137 


at first, so now again the new home was baptized with tears 
as if dedicated to sorrow and trouble. 

Edith then led them upstairs to take off their things, and 
Mrs. Allen had a fresh outburst of sorrow as she recognized 
the contrast between this bare little chamber and her luxu- 
rious sleeping-apartment and dressing-room in the city. 
Laura soon regained her air of weary indifference, but Zell, 
hastily throwing off her wraps, came down to explore, and to 
question Hannibal. 

“ Bress you, chile, it does my eyes good to see you all, 
ony you’se musn’t take on as if we’se all dyin’ with slow 
’sumption.” 

Zell put her hand on the black’s shoulder and looked up 
into his face with a wonderfully gentle and grateful expres- 
sion, saying, — 

You are as good as gold, Hannibal. I am so glad you 
stayed with us, for you seem like one of the best bits of our 
old home. Never mind. I’ll have a grander house again 
soon, and you shall have a stiffer necktie and higher collar 
than ever.” 

Bress you,” said Hannibal with moist eyes, it does my 
ole black heart good to hear you. But, Miss Zell, I say,” 
he added in a loud whisper, “ when is it gwine to be ? ” 

Oh ! ” said poor Zell, asked for definiteness, “ some day,” 
and she passed into the large room where Arden was just 
setting down a trunk. 

“ Don’t leave it there in the middle of the floor,” she 
said sharply. “ Take it upstairs.” 

Arden suddenly straightened himself as if he had received 
a slight cut from a whip, and turned his sullen face full on 
Zell, and it seemed very repulsive to the imperious little lady. 

Don’t you hear me?” she asked sharply. 

Perhaps it would be well for you not to ask favors of 
your neighbors in that tone,” he replied curtly. 


138 


IVHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Edith, coming down, saw the situation and said with oil 
in her voice, “ You must excuse my sister, Mr. Lacey. She 
does not know who you are. Hannibal will assist with 
the trunks if you will be so kind as to take them up- 
stairs.” 

‘‘ She is different from the rest,” thought Arden, readily 
complying with her request. 

But Zell said as she turned away, loud enough for him to 
hear, “ What airs these common country people do put on ! ” 
Zell might have loaded Arden’s wa^on with gold, and he 
would not have lifted a finger for her after that. If he had 
known that Edith’s kindness had been half policy, his face 
would have been more sullen and forbidding than ever. 
But she dwelt glorified and apart in his consciousness, and 
if she could only maintain that ideal supremacy, he would 
be her slave. But in his morbid sensitiveness she would 
have to be very careful. The practical girl at this time did 
not dream of his fanciful imagining about her, but she was 
bent on securing friends and helpers, however humble might 
be their station, and she had shrewdly and quickly learned 
how to manage Arden. 

The next day was spent by the family in getting settled 
in their narrow quarters, and a dreary time they had of it. 
It was a long rainy day, the roof leaked badly, and every 
element of discomfort seemed let loose upon them. 

Mrs. Allen had a nervous headache, and one of her worst 
touches of dyspepsia, and Zell and Laura were so weary and 
out of sorts that little could be accomplished. Between the 
tears and sighs within, and the dripping rain without, Edith 
looked back on the first two days, when the Laceys were 
helping her, as bright in contrast. But Mrs. Allen was 
already worrying over the Laceys’ connection with their 
settlement in the neighborhood. 

We shall be associated with these low people,” said she 


MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY. 1 39 

to Edith querulously. “ Your first acquaintances in a new 
place are of great importance.” 

Edith was not ready for any such association, and she felt 
that there was force in her mother’s words. She had thought 
of the Laceys chiefly in the light of their usefulness. 

She was glad when the long miserable day came to a close,, 
and she welcomed the bright sunshine of the following 
morning, hoping it would dispel some of the gloom that 
seemed gathering round them more thickly than ever. 

After partaking of a rather meagre breakfast, for Hannibal’s 
materials were running low, Edith pushed back her chair, and 
said, — 

“ I move we hold a council of war, and look the situation 
in the face. We are here, and we’ve got to live here. Now 
what shall we do ? I suppose we must go to work at some- 
thing that will bring in money.” 

“ Go to work, and for money ! ” said Mrs. Allen sharply 
from her cushioned arm-chair. “ I hope we haven’t ceased 
to be ladies.” 

^‘But, mother, we can’t live forever on the title. The 
‘ butchers, bakers, and candlestick- makers ’ won’t supply us 
long on that ground. What did the lawyer, who settled 
father’s estate, say before you left?” 

“ Well,” replied Mrs. Allen vaguely, “ he said he had 

placed to our credit in Bank, what there was left, and 

he gave me a check-book and talked economy as men al- 
ways do. Your poor father, after losing hundreds at the 
club, would talk economy the next morning, in the most 
edifying way. He also said that there was some of that 
hateful stock remaining that ruined your father, but that it 
was of uncertain value, and he could not tell how much it 
would realize, but he would sell it and place the proceeds 
also to our credit. It will amount to considerable, I think,, 
and it may rise. 


140 


WHA T CAN- SHE DO ? 


Now, girls,” continued Mrs. Allen, settling herself back 
among the cushions, and resting the forefinger of her right 
hand impressively on the palm of the left, “ this is the proper 
line of policy for us to pursue. I hope in all these strange 
Changes I am still mistress of my own family. You cer- 
tainly don’t think that I expect to stay in this miserable 
hovel all my life. If you two girls, Laura and Edith, had 
made the matches you might, we should still be living on 
the avenue. But I certainly cannot permit you now to spoil 
every chance of getting out of this slough. You may not 
be able to do as well as you could have done, but if you 
are once called working-girls, what can you do ? 

“ In the first place we must go into the best society of this 
town. Our position warrants it of course. Therefore, for 
heaven’s sake don’t let it get abroad that we are associating 
with these drunken Laceys.” (Mrs. Allen in her rapid 
generalization gave the impression that the entire family 
were habitually “ on the rampage,” and Edith remembered 
with misgivings that she had drunk tea with Arden Lacey 
on that very spot.) “ Moreover,” continued Mrs. Allen, 
“ there is a large summer hotel near here, and ‘ my friends ’ 
have promised to come and see me this summer. We must 
try to present an air of pretty, rural elegance, and your young 
gentleman friends from the city will soon be dropping in. 
Then Gus Elliot and Mr. Van Dam continue very kind and 
cordial, I am sure. Zell, though so young, may soon become 
engaged to Mr. Van Dam, and it’s said, he is very rich — ” 

I can’t get up much faith in these two men,” interrupted 
Edith, “ and as for Gus, he can’t support himself.” 

“ I hope you don’t put Gus Elliot and my friend on the 
same level,” said Zell indignantly. 

“ I don’t know where to put ‘ your friend,’ ” said Edith 
curtly. “Why doesn’t he speak out? Why doesn’t he do 
something open, manly, and decided? It seems as if he 


M/^S. ALLEN'S POLICY. 


I4I 

can’ see nothing and think of nothing but your pretty face. 
If he would become engaged to you and frankly take the 
place of lover and brother, he might be of the greatest help 
to us. But what has he done since father’s death but pet 
and flatter you like an infatuated old — ” 

“ Hush ! ” cried Zell, blazing with anger and starting up ; 
'‘ no one shall speak so of him. What more has Gus Elliot 
done?” 

“ He has been useful as my errand boy,” said Edith con- 
temptuously, " and that’s all he amounts to as far as I’m 
concerned. I am disgusted with men. Who in all our 
trouble has been noble and knightly toward us? — ” 

“ Be still, children ; stop your quarrelling,” broke in Mrs. 
Allen. “ You have got to take the world as you find it. 
Men of our day don’t act like knights any more than they 
dress like them. The point I wish you to understand is 
that we must keep every hold we have on our old life and 
society. Next winter some of my friends will invite you ta 
visit them in the city and then who knows what may hap- 
pen?” — and she nodded significantly. Then she added, 
with a regretful sigh, “ What chances you girls have had ! 
There’s Cheatem, Argent, Livingston, Pamby, and last and 
best, Goulden, who might have been secured if Laura had 
been more prompt, and a host of others. Edith had better 
have taken Mr. Fox, even, than have had all this happen.” 

An expression of disgust came out on Edith’s face, and 
she said, “ It seems to me that I would rather go to work 
than take any of them.” 

•' You don’t know anything about work,” said Mrs. Allen. 
“ It’s a great deal easier to marry a fortune than to make 
one, and a woman can’t make a fortune. Marrying well is 
the only chance you girls have now, and it’s my only chance 
to live again as a lady ought, and I want to see to it that 
nothing is done to spoil these chances.” 


142 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Laura listened with a dull assent, conscious that she would 
marry any man now who would give her an establishment 
and enable her to sweep past Mr. Goulden in elegant scorn. 
Zell listened, purposing to marry Mr. Van Dam, though 
Edith’s words raised a vague uneasiness in her mind, and 
she longed to 'see him again, meaning to make him more 
explicit. Edith listened with a cooling adherence to this 
familiar faith and doctrine of the world in which the mother 
had brought up her children. She had a glimmering per- 
ception that the course . indicated was not sound in general, 
■or best for them in particular. 

“ And now,” continued Mrs. Allen, becoming more defi- 
nite, ‘‘we must have a new roof put on the house right 
away, or we shall all be drowned out, and the house must 
be painted, a door-bell put in, and fences and things gen- 
erally put in order. We must fit this room up as a parlor, 
and we. can use the little room there as a dining and sitting 
room. Laura and I will take the chamber over the kitchen, 
-and the one over this can be kept as a spare room, so that 
if any of our city friends come out to see us, they can stay 
all night.” 

“ O mother, the proposed arrangements will make us all 
uncomfortable, you especially,” remonstrated Edith. 

“No matter. I’ve set my heart on our getting back to the 
old life, and we must not stop at trifles.” 

“ But are you sure we have money to spare for all these 
improvements?” continued Edith anxiously. 

“Oh, yes, I think so,” said Mrs. Allen indefinitely. “And 
as your poor father used to say, to spend money is often the 
best way to get money.” 

“Well, mother,” said Edith dubiously, “I suppose you 
know best, but it doesn’t look very clear to me. There 
seems nothing definite or certain that we can depend on.” 

“ Perhaps not to-day, but leave all to me. Some one 


MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY. 


143 


will turn up, who will fill your eye and fill your hand, and 
what more could you ask in a husband ? But you must not 
be too fastidious. These difficult girls are sure to take up 
with ‘ crooked sticks ’ at last.” (Mrs. Allen’s views as to 
straight ones were not original.) “ Leave all to me. I will 
tell you when the right ones turn up.” 


144 


WHAT CAN SHE DO i 


CHAPTER XII. 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 

ND SO the girls were condemned to idleness and 



±\. ennui, and they all came to suffer from these as from 
a dull toothache, especially Laura and Zell. Edith had 
great hopes from her garden, and saw the snow finally dis- 
appear and the mud dry up, as the imprisoned inmates 
of the ark might have watched the abatement of the waters. 

On the afternoon of the council wherein Mrs. Allen had 
marked out the family policy, Edith and Zell walked to the 
village, and going to one of the leading stores, made ar- 
rangements with the proprietor to have his wagon stop daily 
at their house fqr orders. They also asked him to send 
them a carpenter. They made these requests with the 
manner of olden time, when money seemed to flow from a 
full fountain, and the man was very polite, thinking he had 
gained profitable customers. 

While they were absent. Rose stepped in to see if she 
could be of any further help. Mrs. Allen surmised who she 
was and resolved to snub her effectually. To Rose’s ques- 
tion as to their need of assistance, she replied frigidly, that 
they had two servants now, and did not wish to employ any 
more help. 

Rose colored, bit her lip, then said with an open smile, — 

“ You are under mistake. I am Miss Lacey, and helped 
your daughter the first two days after she came.” 

“ Oh ! ah ! Miss Lacey. I beg your pardon,” said Mrs. 


IVA/TING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UR. 1 45 


Allen, still more distantly. My daughter Edith is out. 
Did she not pay you? ” 

Rose’s face became scarlet, and rising hastily she said, 
“Either I misunderstand, or am greatly misunderstood. 
Good afternoon.” 

Mrs. Allen slightly inclined her head, while Laura took no 
notice of her at all. When she was gone, Mrs. Allen said 
complacently, “ I think we will see no more of that bold- 
faced fly-away creature. The idea of her thinking that we 
would live on terms of social equality with them ! ” 

Laura’s only reply was a yawn, but at last she got up, put 
on her hat and shawl and went out to walk a little on the 
porch. Arden, who was returning home with his team, 
stopped a moment to inquire if there was anything further 
that he could do. He hoped the lady he saw on the porch 
was Edith, and the wish to see her again led him to think of 
any excuse that would take him to the house. 

As Laura turned to come toward him, he surmised that it 
was another sister, and was disappointed and embarrassed, 
but it was too late to turn back, though she scarcely ap- 
peared to heed him. 

“ I called to ask Miss Edith if I could do anything more 
that would be of help to her,” he said diffidently. 

Giving him a cold, careless glance, Laura said, “ I believe 
my sister wants some work done around the house before 
long. I will tell her that you were here looking for employ- 
ment, and I have no doubt she will send for you if she needs 
your services,” and Laura turned her back on him and con- 
tinued her walk. 

He whirled about on his heel as if she had struck him, 
and when he got home his mother noted that his face looked 
more black and sullen than she had ever seen it before. 
Rose was open and strong in her indignation, saying, — 

“ Fine neighbors you have introduced us to ! Nice return 


146 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


they make for all our kindness ; not that I begrudge it. 
But I hate to see people get all out of you they can, and 
then about the same as slap your face and show you the 
door.” 

“ Did you see Miss Edith? ” asked Arden quickly. 

“No, I saw the old lady and a proud pale-faced girl who 
took no more notice of me than if I had come for cold 
victuals.” 

“ I suppose they have heard,” said Arden dejectedly. 

“They have heard nothing against me, nor you, nor 
mother,” said Rose hotly. “ If I ever see that Miss Edith 
again, I will give her a piece of my mind.” 

“You will please do nothing of the kind,” said her 
brother. “ She has not turned her back on you. Wait till 
she does. We are the last people to condemn one for the 
sake of another.” 

“ I guess they are all alike ; but, as you say, it’s fair to 
give her a chance,” answered Rose quietly. 

With his habit of reticence he said nothing about his own 
experience. But it was a cruel shock that those connected 
with the one who was becoming the inspiration of his 
dreams should be so contemptible, as he regarded them, 
and as we are all apt to regard those who treat us with con- 
tempt. His faith in her was also shaken, and he resolved 
that she must “ send for him,” feeling her need, before he 
would go near her again. But, after all, his ardent fancy 
began to paint her more gentle and human on the back- 
ground of the narrow pride shown by the others. He 
longed for some absolute proof that she was what he be- 
lieved her, but was too proud to put himself in the way of 
receiving it. 

When Edith heard how the Lacey acquaintance had been 
nipped in the bud, she said with honest shame, “ It’s too 
bad, after all their kindness.” 


WAITJA^G FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 47 


‘‘ It was the only thing to be done,” said Mrs. Allen. “ It 
is better fdr such people to talk against you than to be 
claiming you as neighbors, and all that. It would give us a 
very bad flavor with the best people of the town.” 

“ I only wish then,” said Edith, “ that I had never let them 
do anything for me. I shall hate to meet them again,” and 
she sedulously avoided them. 

The next day a carpenter appeared after breakfast, and 
seemed the most affably suggestive man in the world. “ Of 
course he would carry out Mrs. Allen’s wishes immediately,” 
and he showed her several other improvements that might 
be made at the same time, and which would cost but little 
more while they were about it. 

“ But how much will it cost? ” asked Edith directly. 

Oh, well,” said the man vaguely, “ it’s hard to estimate 
on this kind of jobbing work.” Then turning to Mrs. Allen, 
he said with great deference, “ I assure you, madam, I will 
do it well, and be just as reasonable as possible.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Allen majestically, pleased 
with the deference, “ I suppose that is all we ought to ask.” 

“ I think there ought to be something more definite as to 
price and time of completing the work,” still urged Edith. 

My dear,” said Mrs. Allen with depressing dignity, “pray 
leave these matters to me. It is not expected that a young 
lady like yourself should understand them.” 

Mrs. Allen had become impressed with the idea that if 
they ever reached the haven of Fifth Avenue again, she 
must take the helm and steer their storm-tossed bark. i\s 
we have seen before, she was capable of no small degree of 
exertion when the motive was to attain position and suprem- 
acy in the fashionable world. She was great in one direction 
only — the one to which she had been educated, and to 
which she devoted her energies. 

The man chuckled as he went away. “ Lucky I had to 


148 IkV/^T CAN SHE DO? 

deal with the old fool rather than that sharp black-eyed girl. 
By Jove ! but they are a handsome lot though*; only they 
look like the houses* we build nowadays — more paint and 
finish than solid timber.” 

The next day there were three or four mechanics at work, 
and the job was secured. The day following there were 
only two, and the next day none. Edith sent word by the 
grocer, asking what was the matter. The following day one 
man appeared, and on being questioned, said “ the boss was 
very busy, lots of jobs on hand.” 

“Why did he take our work then?” asked Edith indig- 
nantly. 

“Oh, as to that, the boss takes every job he can get,” 
said the man with a grin. 

“Well, tell the boss I want to see him,” she replied 
sharply. 

The man chuckled and went on with his work in a snaiK 
like manner, as if that were the only job “ the boss ” had, 
or was like to have, and he must make the most of it. 

The house was hers, and Edith felt anxious about it, and 
indeed it seemed that they were going to great expense with 
no certain return in view. That night one corner of the 
roof was left open and rain came in and did not a little 
damage. 

Loud and bitter were the complaints of the family, but 
Edith said little. She was too incensed to talk about it. 
The next day it threatened rain and no mechanics appeared. 
Donning her waterproof and thick shoes, she was soon in 
the village, and by inquiry found the man’s shop. He saw 
her coming and dodged out. 

“Very well, I will wait,” said Edith, sitting down on a 
box. 

The man, finding she would not go away, soon after 
bustled in, and was about to be very polite, but Edith inter- 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 49 

rupted him with a question that was like a blow between the 
eyes, — 

“ What do you mean, sir, by breaking your word ? ” 

“ Great press of work just now. Miss Allen — ” 

“That is not the question,” interrupted Edith. “You 
said you would do our work immediately. You took it with 
that distinct understanding; and, because you have been 
false to your word, we have suffered much loss. You knew 
the roof was not all covered. You knew it when it rained 
last night, but the rain did not fall on you, so I suppose you 
did not care. But is a person who breaks his word in that 
style a gentleman ? Is he even a man, when he breaks it to 
a lady, who has no brother or husband to protect her 
interests?” 

The man became very red. He was accustomed, as his 
workman said, to secure every job he could, then divide and 
scatter his men so as to keep everything going, but at a slow, 
provoking rate, that wore out every one’s patience save his 
own. He was used to the annual fault-finding and grum- 
bling of the busy season, and bore it as he would a north- 
east storm as a disagreeable necessity, and quite prided 
himself on the good-natured equanimity with which he 
could stand his customers’ scoldings ; and the latter had 
become so accustomed to being put off that they endured it 
also as they would a northeaster, and went into improve- 
ments and building as they might visit a dentist. 

But when Edith turned her scornful face and large indig- 
nant eyes full upon him, and asked practically what he meant 
by lying to her, and said that to treat a woman so proved 
him less than a man, he saw his habit of “putting off” in a 
new light. At first he was a little inclined to bluster, but 
Edith interrupted him sharply, — 

“ I wish to know in a word what you will do. If 
that roof is not completed and made tight to-day, I will 


150 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


put the matter in a lawyer’s hands and make you pay 
damages.” 

This would place the man in an unpleasant business 
aspect, so he said gruffly, — 

I will send some men right up.” 

‘‘ And I will take no action till I see whether they come,” 
said Edith significantly. 

They came, and in a few days, the work was finished. 
But a bill double the amount they expected came promptly 
also. They paid no attention to it. 

In the mean time Edith had asked the village merchant, 
who supplied them with provisions, and who had also become 
a sort of agent for them, to send a man to plough the gar- 
den. The next day a slouchy old fellow, with two melan- 
choly shacks of horses that might well tremble at the caw 
of a crow, was scratching the garden with a worn-out plough 
when she came down to breakfast. He had already made 
havoc in the flower borders, and Edith was disgusted with 
the outward aspect of himself and team to begin with. But 
when in her morning slippers she had picked her way daintily 
to a point from which she could look into the shallow furrows, 
her vexation knew no bounds. She had been reading about 
gardening of late, and she had carefully noted how all the 
writers insisted on deep ploughing and the thorough loosen- 
ing of the soil. This man’s furrows did not average six 
inches, and with a frowning brow, and dress gathered up, 
she stood perched on a little stone, like a bird that had just 
alighted with ruffled plumage, while Zell \/as on the porch 
laughing at her. The man with his gaunt team soon came 
round again opposite her, with slow automatic motion as if 
the whole thing was one crazy piece of mechanism. The 
man’s head was down, and he paid no heed to Edith. The 
rim of his old hat flapped over his face, the horses jogged 
on with drooping head and ears, as if unable to hold them 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 151 

ap, and all seemed going down, save the plough. This 
light affair skimmed and scratched along the ground like the 
sharpened sticks of oriental tillage. 

Stop ! ” cried Edith sharply. 

“Whoa ! ” shouted the man, and he turned toward Edith 
a pair of watery eyes, and a face that suggested nothing but 
snuff. 

“Who sent you here?” asked Edith in the same tone. 

“ Mr. Hard, mum.” (Mr. Hard was the merchant who 
was acting as their agent.) 

“ Am I to pay you for this work, or Mr. Hard ? ” 

“ I guess you be, mum.” 

“Who’s to be suited with this work, you, Mr. Hard, 
or I?” 

“ I hain’t thought nothin’ about that.” 

“ Do you mean to say that it makes no difference whether 
I am suited or not ? ” 

“ What yer got agin the work? ” 

“ I want my garden ploughed, not scratched. You don’t 
plough half deep enough, and you are injuring the shrubs 
and flowers in the borders.” 

“ I guess I know more about ploughin’ than you do. Gee 
up thar ! ” to the horses, that seemed inclined to be Edith’s 
allies by not moving. 

“ Stop ! ” she cried, “ I will not pay you a cent for this 
work, and wish you to leave^ this garden instantly.” 

“ Mr. Hard told me to plough this garding and I’m a 
goin’ to plough it. I never seed the day’s work I didn’t git 
paid for yit, and you’ll pay for this. Git up thar, you cussed 
old critters,” and the man struck the horses sharply with a 
lump of dirt. Away went the crazy rattling old automaton 
round and round the garden in spite of all she could do. 

She was half beside herself with vexation, which was 
increased by Zell’s convulsed laughter on the porch, but she 


152 


WHA T C'AN SHE DO ? 


Stormed at the old ploughman as vainly as a robin might 
remonstrate with a windmill. 

“ Mr. Hard told me to plough it, and I’m a goin’ to 
plough it,” said the human part of the mechanism as it again 
passed, without stopping, the place where Edith stood. 

Utterly baffled, Edith rushed into the house and hastily 
swallowed a cup of coffee. She was too angry to eat a 
mouthful. 

Zell followed with her hand upon her side, which was 
aching from laughter, and as soon as she found her voice 
said, — 

“ It was one of the most touchingly beautiful rural scenes 
I ever looked upon. I never had so close and inspiring a 
view of one of the ‘sons of the soil ’ before.” 

“Yes,” snapped Edith, “he is literally a clod.” 

“ I can readily see,” continued Zell, in a mock-senti- 
mental tone, “ how noble and refining, a sphere the ‘ gar- 
ding ’ (as your friend, out there, terms it) must be, even 
for women. In the first place there are your associates in 
labor — ” 

“ Stop ! ” interrupted Edith sharply. “ You all leave 
everything for me to do, but I won’t be teased and tor- 
mented in the bargain.” 

“But really,” continued the incorrigible Zell, “I have 
been so much impressed by the first scene in the creation of 
your Eden, which I have ji^st witnessed, that I am quite 
impatient for the second. It may be that our sole acquaint- 
ances in this delightful rural retreat, the ‘ drunken Laceys,’ 
IS mother calls them, will soon insist on becoming inspired 
with the spirit of the corn they raise in our arbor.” 

Edith sprang up from the table, and went to her room. 

“Shame on you, Zell,” said Mrs. Allen sharply, but Laura 
was too apathetic to scold. 

Impulsive Zell soon relented, and when Edith came down 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 55 

a few moments later in walking trim, and with eyes swollen 
with unshed tears, Zell threw her arms around her neck and 
said, — 

“ Forgive your naughty little sister.” 

But Edith repulsed her angrily, and started toward the 
village. 

I do hate to see people sullenly hoard up things,” said 
Zell snappishly. Then she dawdled about the house, yawn- 
ing and saying fretfully, “ I do wish I knew what to do with 
myself.” 

Laura reclined on the sofa with a novel, but Zell was not 
fond of reading. Her restless nature craved continual 
activity and excitement, but it was part of Mrs. Allen’s 
policy that they should do nothing. 

“ Some one may call,” she said, and we must be ready 
to receive them,” but at that season of the year, when roads 
were muddy, there was but little social visiting in the 
country. 

So, consumed with ennui, Zell listened to the pounding 
of the carpenters overhead, and watched the dogged old 
ploughman go round the small garden till it was all scratched 
over, and then the whole crazy mechanism rattled off to 
parts unknown. The two servants did not leave her even 
the resource of housework, of which she was naturally fond. 

Edith went straight to Mr. Hard, and was so provoked 
that she scarcely avoided the puddles in her determined 
haste. 

Mr. Hard looked out upon his customers with cold, hard 
little eyes that changed their expression only in growing 
more cold and hard. The rest of his person seemed all 
bows, smirks, and smiles, but it was noticed that these latter 
diminished and his eyes grew harder as he wished to remind 
some lagging patron that his little account needed settling. 
This thrifty citizen of Pushton was soon in polite attendance 


^54 


IVI/A T CAN SHE DO ? 


on Edith, but was rather taken back when she asked sharply 
what he meant by sending such a good-for-nothing man to 
plough her garden. 

“ Well, Miss Allen,” he said, his eyes growing harder but 
his manner more polite, “ old Gideon does such little jobs 
around, and I thought he was just the one.” 

Does he plough your garden? ” asked Edith abruptly. 

“ I keep a gardener,” said Mr. Hard with some dignity. 

I believe it would pay me to do the same,” said Edith, 
I could find one on whom I could depend. The 
man you sent was very impudent. I told him the work 
didn’t suit me — that he didn’t plough half deep enough, 
and that he must leave. But he just kept right on, saying 
you sent him, and he would plough it, and he injured my 
flower borders besides. Therefore he must look to you for 
payment.” (Mr. Hard’s eyes grew very hard at this.) 

Because I am a woman I am not going to be imposed 
upon. Now do you know of a man who can really plough 
my garden ? If not, I must look elsewhere. I had hoped 
when you took our business you would have some interest 
in seeing that we were well served.” 

Mr. Hard, with eyes like two flint pebbles, made a low 
bow and said with impressive dignity, — 

“ It is my purpose to do so. There is Mr. Skinner, he 
does ploughing.” 

“ I don’t want Mr. Skinner,” said Edith impatiently, I 
don’t like his name in reference to ploughing.” . 

“ Oh ! ah ! excellent reason ; very good. Miss Allen. 
Well, there’s Mr. McTrump, a Scotchman, who has a small 
green-house and nursery, he looks after gardens for some 
people.” 

“ I will go and see him,” said Edith taking his address. 

As she plodded off to find his place, she sighed, “ Oh, 
dear ! it’s dreadful to have no men in the family. That 


IVAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 55 

Arden Lacey might have helped me so much, if mother was 
not so particular. I fear we are all on the wrong track, 
throwing away substantial and present good for uncertain- 
ties.” 

Mr. McTrump was a little man with a heavy sandy beard 
and such bushy eyebrows and hair that he reminded Edith 
of a Scotch terrier. But her first glance around convinced 
her that he was a gardener. Neatness, order, thrift, im- 
pressed her the moment she opened his gate, and she per- 
ceived that he was already quite advanced in his spring 
work. Smooth seed-sown beds were emerging from winter’s 
chaos. Crocuses and hyacinths were in bloom, tulips were 
budding, and on a sunny slope in the distance she saw long 
green rows of what seemed some growing crop. She deter- 
mined if possible to make this man her ally, or by stratagem 
to gain his secret of success. 

The little man stood in the door of his green-house with a 
transplanting trowel in his hand. He was dressed in clay- 
colored nankeen, and could get down in the dirt without 
seeming to get dirty. His small eyes twinkled shrewdly, but 
not unkindly, as she advanced toward him. He was fond of 
flowers, and she looked like one herself that spring morning. 

I was directed to call upon you,” she said, with concilia- 
tory politeness, ^^understanding that you sometimes assist 
people with their gardens.” 

“ Weel, noo and then I do, but I canna give mooch time 
with a’ my ain work.” 

“ But you would help a lady who has no one else to help 
her, wouldn’t you?” said Edith sweetly. 

Old Malcom was not to be caught with a sugar-plum, so 
he said with a little Scotch caution, — 

“ I canna vera weel say till I hear mair aboot it.” 

Edith told him how she was situated, and in view of her 
perplexity and trouble, her voice hnd a little appealing 


156 


WBA 7' CAN SHE DO f 


pathos in it. Malcom’s eyes twinkled more and more 
kindly, and as he explained afterwards to his wife, “Her 
face was sae like a pink hyacinth beent doon by the storm 
and a wantin’ proppin’ oop,” that by the time she was done 
he was ready to accede to her wishes. 

“ Weel,” said he, “ I canna refuse a blithe young leddy 
like yoursel, but ye must let me have my ain way.” 

Edith was inclined to demur at this, for she had been 
reading up and had many plans and theories to carry out. 
But she concluded to accept the condition, thinking that 
with her feminine tact she would have her own way after all. 
She did not realize that she was dealing with a Scotchman., 

“ I’ll send ye a mon as will plough the garden, and not 
scratch it, the morrow, God willin’,” for Mr. McTrump was 
a very pious man, his only fault being that he would take a 
drop too much occasionally. 

May I stay here awhile and watch you work, and look at 
things ?” asked Edith. “I don’t want to go back till that 
hateful old fellow has done his mischief and is gone.” 

“ Why not ?” said Malcom, ‘‘an ye don’t tech anything. 
The woman folk from the village as come here do pick and 
pull much awry.” 

“ I promise you I will be good,” said Edith eagerly. 

“ That’s mair than ony on us can say of oursel,” said 
Malcom, showing the doctrinal bias of his mind, “ but I 
ken fra’ yer bonnie face ye mean weel.” 

“ O Mr. McTrump, that is the first compliment I have 
received in Pushton,” laughed Edith. 

“ I’m a thinkin’ it’ll not be the last. But I hope ye 
mind the Scripter where it says, ‘ We do all fade as a flower,* 
and ye will not be puffed oop.” 

But Edith, far more intent on horticultural than on scri|> 
tural knowledge, asked quickly, — 

“ What were you going to set out with that trowel ? ” 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 57 


“A new strawberry-bed. I ha’ more plants the spring 
than I can sell, sae I thought to put oot a new bed, though 
I ha’ a good mony.” 

“ I am so glad. I wish to set out a large bed and can get 
the plants of you.” 

“ How mony do ye want?” said Malcom, with a quick 
eye to business. 

“ I shall leave that to you when you see my ground. Now 
see how I trust you, Mr. McTrump.” 

“ An’ ye’ll not lose by it, though I would na like a’ my 
coostomers to put me sae strictly on my honesty.” 

Edith spent the next hour in looking around the garden 
and green-houses and watching the old man put out his 
plants. * 

“These plants are to be cooltivated after the hill sees- 
tem,” he said. “ They are to stand one foot apart in the 
row, and the rows two feet apart, and not a rooner or weed 
to grow on or near them, and it would do your bright eyes 
good to see the great red berries they’ll bear.” 

“Shall I raise mine that way?” said Edith. 

“ Weel, ye might soom, but the narrow row coolture will 
be best for ye. I’m thinkin’.” 

“What’s that?” 

“ Weel, just let the plants run togither and make a thick 
close row a foot wide, an’ two feet between the rows. 
That’ll be the easiest for ye, but I’ll show ye.” 

“I’m so glad I found you out!” said Edith, heartily; 
“ and if you will let me, I want to come here often and see 
how you do everything, for to tell you the truth, between 
ourselves, we are poor, and may have to earn our living out 
of the garden, or some other way, and I would rather do it 
out of the garden.” 

“ Weel, noo, ye’re a canny lass to coom and filch all old 
Malcom’s secrets to set oop opposition to him. But then 


158 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


sin’ ye do it sae openly I’ll tell ye all I know. The big 
wourld ought to be wide enough for a bonnie lassie like 
yoursel to ha’ a chance in it, and though I’m a little mon, 
I would na be sae mean a one as to hinder ye. Mairover 
the gardener’s craft be a gentle one, and I see na reason 
why, if a white lily like yoursel must toil and spin, it should 
na be oot in God’s sunshine, where the flowers bloom, 
instead o’ pricking the bluid oot o’ yer body, and the hope 
oot o’ yer heart, wi’ the needle’s point, as I ha’ seen sae 
mony o’ my ain coontry lassies do. Gude by, and may the 
roses in yer cheeks bloom a’ the year round.” 

Edith felt as if his last words were a blessing, and started 
with her heart cheered and hopeful; and yet beyond her 
garden, with its spring promise, its summer and autumn possi- 
bilities, there was little inspiring or hopeful in her new home. 

In accordance with their mother’s policy, they were wait- 
ing for something to turn up — waiting, in utter uncertainty, 
and with dubious prospects, to achieve by marriage the 
security and competence which they must not work for, or 
they would utterly lose caste in the old social world in which 
they had lived. 

Be not too hasty in condemning Mrs. Allen, my reader, 
for you may, at the same time, condemn yourself. Have 
you no part in sustaining that public sentiment which turns 
the cold shoulder of society toward the woman who works ? 
Many are growing rich every year, but more are growing 
poor. What does the “ best society,” in the world’s estima- 
tion, say to the daughters in these families? 

“ Keep your little hands white, my dears, as long as you 
can, because as soon as the traces of toil are seen on them 
you become a working-woman, and our daughters can’t 
associate with you, and our sons can’t think of you, that is 
for wives. No other than little and white hands can enter 
our heaven” 


WAITING FOR SOME OAF TO TURN UP. l$g 

So multitudes struggle to keep their hands white, though 
thereby the risk that their souls will become stained and 
black increases daily. A host of fair girls find their way 
every year to darker stains than ever labor left, because they 
know how coldly society will ignore them the moment they 
enlist in the army of honest workers. But you, respectable 
men and women in your safe pleasant homes, to the extent 
that you hold and sustain this false sentiment, to the ex- 
tent that you make the paths of labor hard and thorny, and 
darken them from the approving smile of the world, you 
are guilty of these girls’ ruin. 

Christian matron, with your husband one of the pillars of 
church and state, do you shrink with disgust from that poor 
creature who comes flaunting down Broadway? None but 
the white-handed enter your parlors, and the men ( ?) who 
are hunting such poor girls to perdition will sit on the sofa 
with your daughters this evening. Be not too confident. 
Your child, or one in whom your blood flows at a little later 
remove, may stand just where honor to toil would save, but 
the practical dishonoring of it, which you sustain, eventually 
blot out the light of earth and heaven. 

Mrs. Allen knew that even if her daughters commenced 
teaching, which, with all the thousands spent on their edu- 
cation, they were incapable of doing, their old sphere on 
Fifth Avenue would be as unapproachable as the pearly 
gates, between which and the lost a great gulf is fixed.” 

But Mrs. Allen knew also of a very respectable way, 
having the full approval of society, by which they might 
regain their place in the heaven from which they had 
fallen. Besides it was such a simple way, requiring no labor 
whatever, though a little scheming perhaps, no amount of 
brains or culture worth mentioning, no heart or love, and 
least of all a noble nature. A woman may sell herself, or if 
of a waxy disposition, having little force, may be sold at the 


l6o WHAT CAN SHE DO? 

altar to a man who will give wealth and luxury in return. 
This, society, in full dress, smiles upon, and civil law and 
sacred ceremony sanction. 

With the forefinger of her right hand resting impressively 
on the palm of her left, Mrs. Allen had indicated this back 
door into the paradise, the gates of which were guarded 
against poor working-women by the flaming sword of public 
opinion, turning every way. 

And the girls were waiting yawningly, wearily, as the long 
unoccupied days passed. Laura’s cheek grew paler than 
even her delicate style of beauty demanded. She seemed 
not only a hot-house plant, but a sickly one. The light was 
fading from her eye as well as the color from her cheek, 
and all vigor vanishing from her languid soul and body. 
The resemblance to her mother grew more striking daily. 
She was a melancholy result of that artificial luxurious life 
by which the whole nature is so enervated that there seems 
no stamina left to resist the first cold blast of adversity. 
Instead of being like a well-rooted hardy native of the soil 
she seemed a tender exotic that would wither even in the 
honest sunlight. As a gardener would say, she needed 
hardening off.” This would require the bracing of prin- 
ciple and the development of work. But Mrs. Allen could 
not lead the way to the former, and the latter she forbade, 
so poor Laura grew more sickly and morbid every day of 
her weary idle waiting. 

Mrs. Allen’s policy bore even more heavily on Zell. We 
have all thought something perhaps of the cruelty of impris- 
oning a vigorous young person, abounding in animal life and 
spirits, in a narrow cell, which forbids all action and stifles 
hope. It gives the unhappy victim the sensation of being 
buried alive. There comes at last to be one passionate 
desire to get out and away. Impulsive, restless, excitable 
Zcdl, with every vein filled with hot young blood, was shut 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. l6l 


out from what seemed to her the world, and no other world 
of activity was shown to her. Her hands were tied by her 
mother’s policy, and she sat moping and chafing like a 
chained captive, waiting till Mr. Van Dam should come and 
deliver her from as vile durance as was ever suffered in 
the moss-grown castles of the old world. The hope of his 
coming was all that sustained her. Her sad situation was 
the result of acting on a false view of life from beginning 
to end. Any true parent would have shuddered at the 
thought of a daughter marrying such a man as Van Dam, 
but Zell was forbidden to do one useful thing, lest it should 
mar her chance of union with this rhume of all vice and 
uncleanness ; and though she had heard the many reports 
of his evil life, her moral sense was so perverted that 
he seemed a lion rather than a reptile to her. It is true, 
she looked upon him only in the light of her future hus- 
band, but that she did not shrink from any relationship with 
such a man shows how false and defective her education 
had been. 

Edith had employment for mind and hand, therefore she 
was happier and safer than either of her sisters. Malcom 
had her garden thoroughly ploughed, and helped her plant 
it. He gave her many flower roots and sold others at very 
low prices. In the lower part of the garden, where the 
ground was rather heavy and moist, he put out a large num- 
ber of raspberries ; and along a stone fence, where weeds and 
bushes had been usurping the ground, he planted two or 
three varieties of blackcaps. He also lined another fence 
with Kittatinny blackberries. There were already many 
currants and gooseberries on the place. These he trimmed, 
and put in cuttings for new bushes. He pruned the grape- 
vines also somewhat, but not to any great extent, on account 
of the lateness of the season, meaning to get them into 
shape by summer cutting. The orchard also was made to 


i 62 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


look clean and trim, with the dead wood and interfering 
branches cut away. Edith watched these operations with 
the deepest interest, and when she could, without danger of 
being observed from the road, assisted, though in a very 
dainty, amateur way. But Malcom did not aim to put in 
as many hours as possible, but seemed to do everything with 
a sleight of hand that made his visits appear too brief, even 
though she had to pay for them. As a refuge from long 
idle hours, she would often go up to Malcom’s little place, 
and watch him and his assistant as they deftly dealt with 
nature in accordance with her moods, making the most of 
the soil, sunlight, and rain. Thus Malcom came to take a 
great interest in her, and shrewd Edith was not slow in 
fostering so useful a friendship. But in spite of all this, 
there were many rainy idle days that hung like lead upon 
her hands, and upon these especially, it seemed impossible 
to carry out her purpose to be gentle and forbearing, and it 
often occurred that the dull apathy of the household was 
changed into positive pain by sharp words and angry retorts 
that should never have been spoken. 

About the last Sabbath of April, Mrs. Allen sent for a 
carriage and was driven with her daughters to the most fash- 
ionable church of Pushton. Marshalled by the sexton, they 
rustled in toilets more suitable for one of the gorgeous 
temples of Fifth Avenue than for even the most ambitious 
of country churches. Mrs. Allen hoped to make a profound 
impression on the country people, and by this one dress 
parade to secure standing and cordial recognition among 
the foremost families. But she overshot the mark. The 
failure of Mr. Allen was known. The costly mourning suits 
and the little house did not accord, the solid, sensible 
people were unfavorably impressed, and those of fashionable 
and aristocratic tendencies felt that investigation was needed 
before the strangers could be- admitted within their exclu- 


WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP. 1 63 

sive circles. So, though it was not a Methodist church that 
they attended, the Allens were put on longer probation by 
all classes, when if they had appeared in a simple unassum- 
ing manner, rating themselves at their true worth and posi- 
tion, many would have been inclined to take them by the 
hand. 


164 


WHA7' CAN SHE DO? 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THEY TURN UP. 


NE morning, a month after the Allens had gone into 



V_/ poverty’s exile, Gus Elliot lounged into Mr. Van 
Dam’s luxurious apartments. There was everything around 
him to gratify the eye of sense, that is, such sense as Gus 
Elliot had cultivated, though an angel might have hidden 
his face. We will not describe these rooms — we had better 
not. It is sufficient to say that in their decorations, pic- 
tures, bacchanalian ornaments, and general suggestion, they 
x^ere a reflex of Mr. Van Dam’s character, in the more re- 
fined and aesthetic phase which he presented to society. 
Indeed, in the name of art, whose mantle, if at times rather 
flimsy, is broader than that of charity, not a few would have 
admired the exhibitions of Mr. Van Dam’s taste. 

But concerning Gus Elliot, no doubt exists in our mind. 
The atmosphere of Mr. Van Dam’s room was entirely 
adapted to his chosen direction of development. He was a 
young man of leisure and fashion, and was therefore what 
even the fashionable would be horrified at their daughters 
ever becoming. This nice distinction between son and 
daughter does not result well. It leaves men in the midst 
of society unbranded as vile, unmarked so that good women 
may shrink in disgust from them. It gives them a chance 
to prey upon the weak, as Mr. Van Dam purposed to do, 
and as he intended to induce Gus Elliot to do, and as mul- 
titudes of exquisitely dressed scoundrels are doing daily. 


THEY TURN UP, 


165 

If Mr. and Mrs. Allen had done their duty as parents, 
they would have kept the wolf (I beg the wolfs pardon) the 
jackal, Mr. Van Dam, with his thin disguise of society 
polish, from entering their fold. Gus Elliot was one of those 
mean curs that never lead, and could always be drawn into 
any evil that satisfied the one question of his life, ‘‘ Will it 
give me what / want?” 

Gus was such an exquisite that the smell of garlic made 
him ill, and the sight of blood made him faint, and the 
thought of coarse working hands was an abomination, but in 
worse than idleness he could see his old father wearing him- 
self out, he could get “ gentlemanly drunk,” and commit 
any wrong in vogue among the fast young men with whom 
he associated. “ And now Mephistopheles Van Dam easily 
induces him to seek to drag down beautiful Edith Allen, 
the woman he had meant to marry, to a life compared with 
which the city gutters are cleanly. 

Van Dam in slippers and silken robe was smoking his 
meerschaum after a late breakfast and reading a French 
novel. 

“What is the matter?” he said, noting Gus’s expression 
of ennui and discontent. 

“There is not another girl left in the city to be men- 
tioned the same day with Edith Allen,” said Gus, with the 
pettishness of a child from whom something had been 
taken. 

“Well, spooney, what are you going to do about it?” 
asked Mr. Van Dam coolly. 

“ What is there to do about it ? you know well enough 
that I can’t afford to marry her. I suppose it’s the best 
thing for me that she has gone off to the backwoods some- 
where, for while she was here I could not help seeing her, 
and after all it was only an aggravation.” 

“ I can’t afford to marry Zell,” replied Van Dam, “but I 


66 


WHAT CAJV SHE DO? 


am going up to see her to-morrow. After being out there 
by themselves for a month, I think they will be glad to see 
some one from the civilized world.” The most honest 
thing about Van Dam was his sincere commiseration for 
those compelled to live in quiet country places, without ex- 
perience in the highly spiced pleasures and excitements of 
the metropolis. In his mind they were associated with 
oxen — innocent, rural, and heavy, these terms being almost 
synonymous to him, and suggestive of such a forlorn tame 
condition that it seemed only vegetating, not living. Mr. 
Van Dam believed in a life, like his favorite dishes, that 
abounded in cayenne. Zell’s letters had confirmed this 
opinion, and he saw that she was half desperate with ennui 
and disgust at their loneliness. 

“ I imagine we have stayed away long enough,” he con- 
tinued. “ They have had sufficient of the miseries of mud, 
rain, and exile, not to be very nice about the conditions 
of return to old haunts and life. Of course I can’t afford 
to marry Zell any more than you can Edith, but for all that 
I expect to have her here with me before many months 
pass, and perhaps weeks.” 

“ Look here, V an Dam, you are going too far. Remem- 
ber how high the Allens once stood in society,” said Gus, a 
little startled. 

“ ‘ Once stood ; ’ where do they stand now ? Who in so- 
ciety has lifted, or will lift a finger for them, and they seem 
to have no near relatives to stand by them. I tell you they 
are at our mercy. Luxury is a necessity, and yet they are 
not able to earn their bare bread. 

“ Let me inform you,” he continued, speaking with the 
confidence of a hunter, who from long experience knows just 
where the game is most easily captured, ‘‘ that there is no 
class more helpless than the very rich when reduced to 
sudden poverty. They are usually too proud to work, in 


THEY TURN UP. 


167 


the first place, and in the second, they don’t know how to 
do anything. What does a fashionable education fit a girl 
for, I would like to know, if, as often occurs, she has to 
make her own way in the world ? — a smattering of every- 
thing, mistress of nothing.” 

“Well, Van Dam,” said Gus, “according to your show- 
ing, it fits them for little schemes like the one you are 
broaching.” 

“ Precisely. Girls who know how to work and who are 
accustomed to it, will snap their fingers in your face, and 
tell you they can take care of themselves, but the class to 
which the Allens belong, unless kept up by some rich rela- 
tions, are soon almost desperate from want. I have kept 
up a correspondence with Zell. They seem to have no near 
relatives or friends who are doing much for them. They 
are doing nothing for themselves, save spend what little 
there is left, and their monotonous country life has half- 
murdered them already. So I conclude I have waited long 
enough and will go up to-morrow. Instead of pouting like 
a spoiled child over your lost Edith, you had better go up 
and get her. It may take a little time and management. 
Of course they must be made to think we intend to marry 
them, but if they once elope with us, we can find a priest at 
our leisure.” 

“ I will go up to-morrow with you any way,” said Gus, 
who, like so many others, never made a square bargain with 
the devil, but was easily “ led captive ” from one wrong and 
villany to another. 

It was the last day of April — one on which the rawness 
and harshness of early spring were melting into the mildness 
of May. The buds on the trees had perceptibly swollen. 
The flowering maple was still aflame, the sweet centre of 
attraction to innumerable bees, the hum of whose industry 
rose and fell on the languid breeze. The grass had the 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


1 68 

delicate green and exquisite odor belonging to its first 
growth, and was rapidly turning the brown, withered sward 
of winter into emerald. The sun shone through a slight 
haze, but shone warmly. The birds had opened the day 
with full orchestra, but at noon there was little more than 
chirp and twitter, they seeming to feel something of Edith’s 
languor, as she leaned on the railing of the porch, and 
watched for the coming of Malcom. She sighed as she 
louked at the bare brown earth of the large space that she 
purposed for strawberries, and work there and everywhere 
seemed repulsive. The sudden heat was enervating and 
gave her the feeling of luxurious languor that she longed to 
enjoy with a sense of security and freedom from care. But 
even as her eyelids drooped with momentary drowsiness, 
there was a consciousness, like a dull, half-recognized pain, 
of insecurity, of impending trouble and danger, and of a 
need for exertion that would lead to something more certain 
than anything her mother’s policy promised. 

She was startled from her heaviness by the sharp click 
of the gate latch, and Malcom entered with two large bas- 
kets of strawberry-plants. He had said to her, — 

“ Wait a bit. The plants will do weel, put oot the last o’ 
the moonth. An ye wait I’ll gie ye the plants I ha’ left 
cover and canna sell the season. But dinna be troobled. I’ll 
keepit enoof for ye ony way.” 

By this means Edith obtained half her plants without 
cost, save for Malcom’s labor of transplanting them. 

The weather had little influence on Malcom’s wiry frame, 
and his spirit of energetic, cheerful industry was contagious. 
Once aroused and interested, Edith lost all' sense of time, 
and the afternoon passed happily away. 

At her request Malcom had brought her a pair of pruning 
nippers, such as she had seen him use, and she kept up a 
delicate show of work, trimming the rose-bushes and shrubs, 


THEY TURN UP, 


169 


while she watched him. She could not bring her mind to 
anything that looked like real work as yet, but she had a 
feeling that it must come. She saw that it would help 
Malcom very much if she went before and dropped the 
plants for him, but some one might see her, and speak of 
her doing useful work. The aristocratically inclined in 
Pushton would frown on the young lady so employed, but 
she could snip at roses and twine vines, and that would look 
pretty and rural from the road. 

But it so happened that the one who caught a glimpse of 
her spring-day beauty, and saw the pretty rural scene she 
crowmed, was not the critical occupant of some family car- 
riage ; for when, while near the road, she was reaching up 
to clip off the topmost spray of a bush, her attention was 
drawn by the rattle of a wagon, and in this picturesque 
attitude her eyes met those of Arden Lacey. The sudden 
remembrance of the unkind return made to him, and the 
fact that she had therefore dreaded meeting him, caused her 
to blush deeply. Her feminine quickness caught his ex- 
pression, a timid questioning look, that seemed to ask if 
she would act the part of the others. Edith was a society 
and city girl, and her confusion lasted but a second. Policy 
whispered, “ You can still keep him as a useful friend, 
though you must keep him at a distance, and you may 
need him.” Some sense of gratitude and of the wrong 
done him and his also mingled with these thoughts, passing 
with the marvellous rapidity with which a lady’s mind acts 
in social emergencies. She also remembered that they were 
alone, and that none of the Pushton notables could see that 
she was acquainted with the drunken Laceys.” Therefore 
before the diffident Arden could turn away, she bowed and 
smiled to him in a genial, conciliatory manner. His face 
brightened into instant sunshine, and to her surprise he 
lifted his old weather-stained felt hat like a gentleman. 


70 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Though he had received no lessons in etiquette, he was in* 
dined to be a little courtly and stately in manner, when he 
noticed a lady at all, from unconscious imitation of the 
high-bred characters in the romances he read. He said to 
himself in glad exultation, — 

“ She is different from the rest. • She is as divinely good 
as she is divinely beautiful,” and away he rattled toward 
Pushton as happy as if his old box wagon were a golden 
chariot, and he a caliph of Arabian story on whom had just 
shone the lustrous eyes of the Queen of the East. Then as 
the tumult in his mind subsided, questioning thoughts as to 
the cause of her blush came trooping through his mind, and 
at once there arose a long vista of airy castles tipped with 
hope as with sunlight. Poor Arden ! What a wild, un- 
curbed imagination had mastered his morbid nature, as he 
lived a hermit’s life among the practical people of Pushton ! 
If he had known that Edith, had she seen him in the village, 
would have crossed the street rather than have met or 
recognized him, it would have plunged him into still bitterer 
misanthropy. She and his mother only stood between him 
and utter contempt and hatred of his kind, as they existed 
in reality, and not in his books and dreams. 

She forgot all about him before his wagon turned the 
corner of the road, and chatted away to Malcom, question- 
ing and nipping with increasing zest. As the day grew 
cooler, her spirits rose under the best of all stimulants, 
agreeable occupation. The birds ceased at last their nest- 
building, and from orchard and grove came many an inspir- 
ing song. Edith listened with keen enjoyment, and country 
life and work looked no longer as they had done in the 
sultry noon. She saw with deep satisfaction the long rows 
of strawberry-vines increasing under Malcom’s labors. In 
the still humid air the plants scarcely wilted and stood up 
with the bright look of those well started in life. 


THEY TURN UP. 


171 

As evening approached, and no carriage of note had 
passed, Edith ventured to get her transplanting trowel, doff 
her gloves, and commence dividing her flower roots, that 
she might put them elsewhere. She became so interested in 
her work that she was positively happy, and soft-hearted 
Malcom, with his eye for the beauties of nature, was getting 
his rows crooked, because of so many admiring glances 
toward her as she went to and fro. 

The sun was low in the west and shone in crimson 
through the soft haze. But the color in her cheeks was 
richer as she rose from the ground, her little right hand lost 
in the scraggly earth-covered roots of some hardy phlox, 
and turned to meet exquisite Gus Elliot, dressed with fin- 
ished care, his hands incased in immaculate gloves. Her 
broad-rimmed hat was pushed back, her dress looped up, 
and she made a picture in the evening glow that would have 
driven a true artist half wild with admiration ; but poor 
Gus was quite shocked. The idea of Edith Allen, the girl 
he had meant to marry, grubbing in the dirt and soiling her 
hands in that style ! It was his impression that only Dutch 
women worked in a garden; and for all he knew of its 
products she might be setting out a potato plant. Quick 
Edith caught his expression, and while she crimsoned with 
vexation at her plight, felt a new and sudden sense of con- 
tempt for the semblance of a man before her. 

But with the readiness of a society girl she smoothed her 
way out of the dilemma, saying with vivacity, — 

‘‘Why, Mr. Elliot, where did you drop from? You have 
surprised me among my flowers, you see.” 

“ Indeed, Miss Edith,” said Gus, in rather unhappily 
phrased gallantry, “ to see you thus employed makes me 
feel as if we both had dropped into some new and strange 
sphere. You seem the lovely shepherdess of this rural 
scene, but where is your flock? ” 


1/2 


IV//A T CAN SHE DO? 


Shrewd Malcom, near by, watched this scene as the 
terrier he resembled might have done, and took instant and 
instinctive dislike to the new-comer. With a contemptuous 
sniff he thought to himself, “ There’s mateerial enoof in ye 
for so mooch toward a flock as a calf and a donkey.” 

A truce to your lame compliments,” she said, conceal- 
ing her vexation under badinage. ‘‘ I do not live by hook 
and crook yet, whatever I may come to, and I remember 
that you only appreciate artificial flowers made by pretty 
shop girls, and these are not in the country. But come in. 
Mother and my sisters will be glad to see you.” 

Gus was not blind to her beauty, and while the idea of 
marriage seemed more impossible than ever, now that he 
had seen her hands soiled, the evil suggestion of Van Dam 
gained attractiveness with every glance. 

Edith found Mr. Van Dam on the porch with Zell, who 
had welcomed him in a manner that meant much to the 
wily man. He saw how necessary he was to her, and how 
she had been living on the hope of seeing him, and the 
baseness of his nature was such that instead of being stirred 
to one noble kindly impulse toward her, he simply exulted 
in his power. 

"‘Oh,” said she, as with both hands she greeted him, her 
eyes half filling with tears, ^Gve have been living like poor 
exiles in a distant land, and you seem as if just from home, 
bringing the best part of it with you.” 

“ And I shall carry you back to it ere long,” he whis- 
pered. < 

Her face grew bright and rosy with the deepest happiness 
she had ever known. He had never spoken so plainly 
before. Edith can never taunt me again with his silence,” 
she thought. Though sounding well enough to the ear, how 
false were his words ! Zell was giving the best love of 
which her heart was capable in view of her defective edu- 


THEY TURN- UP. 


173 


cation and character. In a sincere and deep affection there 
are great possibilities of good. Her passion, so frank and 
strong, in the hands of a true man, was a lever that might 
have lifted her to the noblest life. Van Dam sought to use 
it only to force her down. He purposed to cause one of 
God’s little ones to offend. 

Edith soon appeared, dressed with the taste and style of 
; a Fifth Avenue belle of the more sensible sort, and Gus was. 
comforted. Her picturesque natural beauty in the garden 
was quite lost on him, but now that he saw the familiar 
touches of the artificial in her general aspect, she seemed 
to him the peerless Edith of old. And yet his nice eye 
noted that even a month of absence from the fashionable 
centre had left her ignorant of some of the shadings off of 
! one mode into another, and the thought passed over the 
polished surface of his mind (all Gus’s thoughts were on 
the surface, there being no other accommodation for them), 
“Why, a year in this out-of- the- world life, and she would 
be only a country girl.” 

But all detracting thoughts of each other, all mean, vile^ 
and deadly purposes, were hidden under smiling exteriors. 
Mrs. Allen was the gracious, elegant matron who would not 
for the world let her daughters soil their hands, but 
schemed to marry one to a weak apology for a man, and 
another to a villain out and out, and the fashionable world 
would cordially approve and sustain Mrs. Allen’s tactics 
if she succeeded. 

Laura brightened up more than she had done since her 
father’s death. Anything that gave hope of return to the 
city, and the possibility of again meeting and withering Mr. 
Goulden with her scorn, was welcome. 

And Edith, while she half despised Gus, found it very 
pleasant to meet those of her old set again, and repeat 
a bit of the past. The young crave companionship, and 


174 


WffA T CAN SHE DO ? 


in spite of all his weakness she half liked Elliot. With 
youth’s hopefulness she believed that he might become a 
man if he only would. At any rate, she half-consciously 
formed the reckless purpose to shut her eyes to all pre- 
sentiments of coming trouble and enjoy the evening to the 
utmost. 

Hannibal was enjoined to get up as fine a supper as possi- 
ble, regardless of cost, with Mrs. Allen’s maid to assist. 

In the long purple twilight, Edith and Zell, on the arms 
of their pseudo lovers, strolled up and down the paths of the 
little garden and dooryard. As Edith and Gus were passing 
along the walk that skirted the road, she heard the heavy 
rumble of a wagon that she knew to be Arden Lacey’s. She 
did not look up or recognize him, but appeared so intent on 
what Gus was saying as to be oblivious to all else, and yet 
through her long lashes she glanced toward him in a rapid 
flash, as he sat in his rough working garb on the old board 
where she, on the rainy night of her advent to Pushton, had 
clung to his arm in the jolting wagon. Momentary as the 
glance was, the pained, startled expression of his face as 
he bent his eyes full upon her caught her attention and 
remained with her. 

His manner and appearance secured the attention of Gus 
also, and with a contemptuous laugh he said loud enough 
for Arden to hear partially, — 

“ That native comes from pretty far back, I imagine. He 
looks as if he never saw a lady and gentleman before. The 
idea of living like such a cabbage-head as that ! ” 

If Gus had not been with Edith, his good clothes and 
good looks would have been spoiled within the next five 
minutes. 

Edith glanced the other way and pointed to her straw- 
berry-bed as if not noticing his remark or its object, 
saying, — 


THEY TURN UP. T75 

“ If you will come and see us a year from next June, I 
can give you a dainty treat from these plants.” 

“You will not be here next June,” said Gus tenderly. 
“ Do you imagine we can spare you from New York? The 
city has seemed dull since robbed of the light of your bright 
eyes.” 

Edith rather liked sugar-plums of such make, even from 
Gus, and she, as it were, held out her hand again by the 
j rather sentimental remark, — 

! “ Absent ones are soon forgotten.” 

Gus, from 'much experience, knew how to flirt beauti- 
fully, and so with some aptness and show of feeling, re- 
plied, — 

“ From my thoughts you are never absent.” 

Edith gave him a quick questioning look. What did he 
mean ? He had avoided everything tending to commit him 
to a penniless girl after her father’s death. Was this mere 
flirtation ? Or had he, in absence, learned his need of her 
’ for happiness ? and was he now willing to marry her even 
though poor? 

“ If he is man enough to no this, he is capable of doing 
> more,” she thought quickly, and circumstances pleaded for 
• him. She felt so troubled about the future, so helpless and 

I lonely, and he seemed so inseparably associated with her 

ii old bright life, that she was tempted to lean on such a sway- 
!; ing reed as she knew Gus to be. She did not reply, but he 
could see the color deepen in her cheeks even in the fading 
j twilight, her bosom rose and fell more quickly, and her hand 
1 rested upon his arm with a more confiding pressure. What 
more could he ask? and he exulted. 

But before he could speak again they were summoned to 
I supper. Van Dam touched Gus’s elbow as they passed in 
and whispered, — 

^ “Don’t be precipitate. Say nothing definite to-night 


176 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


I gather from Zell that a little more of their country purga* 
tory will render them wholly desperate.” 

Edith noticed the momentary detention and whispering, 
and the thought that there was some understanding between 
the two occurred to her. For some undefined reason she 
was always inclined to be suspicious and on the alert when 
Mr. Van Dam was present. And yet it was but a passing 
thought, soon forgotten in the enjoyment of the evening, 
after so long and dull an experience. Zell was radiant, and 
there was a glimmer of color in Laura’s pale cheeks. 

After supper they sat down to cards. The decanter was 
placed on the side table, and heavy inroads were made on 
Mrs. Allen’s limited stock of wine, for the gentlemen, feel- 
ing that they were off on a lark, were little inclined to self- 
control. They also insisted on the ladies drinking health 
with them, which foolish Zell, and more foolish Mrs. Allen 
were too ready to do, and for the first time since their com- 
ing, the little cottage resounded with laughter that was too 
loud and frequent to be inspired by happiness only. 

If guardian angels watched there, as we believe they do 
everywhere, they may well have veiled their faces in sadness 
and shame. 

But the face of poor innocent Hannibal shone with de- 
light, and nodding his head toward Mrs. xMlen’s maid with 
the complacency of a prophet who saw his predictions ful- 
filled, he said, — 

“ I told you my young ladies wasn’t gwine to stay long 
in Bushtown” (as Hannibal persisted in calling the place). 

To Arden Lacey, the sight of Edith listening with glow- 
ing cheeks and intent manner to a stranger with her hand 
within his arm — a stranger too that seemed the embodi- 
ment of that conventionality of the world which he de- 
spised and hated, was a vision that pierced like a sword. 
And then Gus’s contemptuous words and Edith’s non-recog- 


THEY TURN UR, 


177 


nition, though he tried to believe she had not seen him, were 
like vitriol to a wound. At first there was a mad impulse 
of anger toward Elliot, and, as we have intimated, only 
Edith’s presence prevented Arden from demanding instant 
apology. He knew enough of his fiery nature to feel that 
he must get away as fast as possible, or he might forever 
disgrace himself in Edith’s eyes. 

As he rode home his mind was in a sad chaos. He was 
conscious that his airy castles were falling about him with a 
crash, which, though unheard by all the world, shook his 
soul to the centre. 

Too utterly miserable to face his mother, loathing the 
thought of food, he put up his horses and rushed out into 
the night. 

In his first impulse he vowed never to look toward Edith 
again, but, before two hours of fruitless wandering had 
passed, a fascination drew him toward Edith’s cottage, only 
to hear that detested voice again, only to hear even Edith’s 
laugh ring out too loud and reckless to come from the lips 
of the exquisite ideal of his dreams. Though the others 
had spoken in thunder tones, he would have had ears for 
these two voices only. He rushed away from the spot, as 
one might from some torturing vision, exclaiming, — 

The real world is a worse mockery than the one of my 
dreams. Would to heaven I had never been born ! ” 


i/8 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XIV, 


WE can’t work. 


HE gentlemen agreed to meet the ladies the next day 



i at church. Mrs. Allen insisted upon it, as she wished 
to show the natives of Pushton that they were visited by 
T^eople of style from the city. As yet they had not received 
ma.ny calls, and those venturing had come in a reconnoiter- 
ing kind of way. She knew so little of solid country people 
as to suppose that two young men, like Gus Elliot and Van 
Dam, would make a favorable impression. The latter with 
a shrug and grimace at Zell, which she, poor child, thought 
funny, promised to do so, and then th^v took leave with 
great cordiality. 

So they were ready to hand the Allens out of their 
carriage the next morning, and were, with the ladies, who 
were dressed even more elaborately than on the previous 
Sabbath, shown to a prominent pew, the centre of many 
admiring eyes, as they supposed. But where one admired, 
ten criticised. The summer hotel at Pushton had brought 
New York too near and made it too familiar for Mrs. 
Allen’s tactics. Visits to town were easily made and fre- 
quent, and by brief diversions of their attention from the 
service, the good church people soon satisfied themselves 
that the young men belonged to the bold fast type, an im- 
pression strengthened by the parties themselves, who had 
devotion only for Zell and Edith, and a bold stare for any 
pretty girl that caught their eyes. 


fV£: CAN*T WORK. 


m 


After church they parted with the understanding that 
the gentlemen should come out toward night and spend the 
evening. 

Mr. Van Dam and Gus Elliot dined at the village hotel, 
having ordered the best dinner that the landlord was capa- 
ble of serving, and a couple of bottles of wine. Over this 
they became so exhilarated as to attract a good deal of 
attention. A village tavern is always haunted by idle clerks^ 
and a motley crowd of gossips, on the Sabbath, and to thesti. 
the irruption of two young bloods from the city was a slight 
break in the monotony of their slow shuffling jog toward 
perdition ; and when the fine gentlemen began to get drunk 
and noisy it was really quite interesting. A group gathered 
round the bar, and through the open door could see into 
the dining-room. Soon with unsteady step. Van Dam and 
Elliot Joined them, the latter brandishing an empty bottle, 
and calling in a thick loud voice, — 

“ Here landlord (hie) open a bottle (hie) of wine, for 
these poor (hie) suckers, (hie) I don’t suppose (hie) they 
ever tasted (hie) anything better than corn-whiskey, (hie) 
But I’ll moisten (hie) their gullets to-day (hie) with a 
gentleman’s drink.” 

I’he crowd was mean enough, as the loafers about a 
tavern usually are, to give a faint cheer at the prospect of 
a treat, even though accompanied by words equivalent to a 
kick. But one big raw-boned fellow, who looked equal to 
any amount of corn-whiskey or anything else, could not 
swallow Gus’s insolence, and stepped up saying, — 

“ Look here Cap’n, I’m ready enough to drink with a 
chap when he asks me like a gentleman, but I feel more 
like puttin’ a head on you than drinkin’ with yer.” 

Gus had the false courage of wine and prided himself on 
his boxing. In the headlong fury of drunkenness he flung 
the bottle at the man’s head, just grazing it, and sprang 


i8o 


WHAT CAN SHE HOP 


toward him, but stumbled and fell. The man, with a cer- 
tain rude sense of chivalry, waited for him to get up, but 
the mean loafers who had cheered were about to manifest 
their change of sentiment toward Gus by kicking him in his 
prostrate condition. Van Dam, who also had drunk too 
much to be his cool careful self, now drew a pistol, and 
with a savage volley of oaths swore he would shoot the first 
man who touched his friend. Then, helping Gus up, he 
carried him off to a private room, and with the skill of an 
old experienced hand set about righting himself and Elliot, 
so that they might be in a presentable condition for their 
visit at the Allens’. 

“ Curse it all, Gus, why can you not keep within bounds? 
If this gets to the girls’ ears it may spoil everything.” 

By five o’clock Gus had so far recovered as to venture to 
drive to the Allens’, and the fresh air restored him rapidly. 
Before leaving, the landlord said to Van Dam, — 

“You had better stay out there all night. From what I 
hear the boys are going to lay for you when you come 
home to-night. I don’t want any rows connected with my 
house. I’d rather you wouldn’t come back.” 

Van Dam muttered an oath, and told the driver to 
go on. 

As a matter of course they were received very cordially. 
Gus was quite himself again. He only seemed a little more 
inclined than usual to be sentimental and in high spirits. 

They walked again in the twilight through the garden and 
under the budding trees of the orchard. Gus assumed a 
caressing tone and manner, which Edith half received and 
half resented. She felt that she did not know her own 
mind and did not understand him altogether, and so she 
took a diplomatic middle course that would leave her free 
to go forward or retreat. Zell, under the influence of Mr. 
Van Dam’s flattering manner, walked in a beautiful but lurid 


WE CAN'T WOE AT. 


iSi 

dream. At last they all gathered in the%)arlor and chatted 
and laughed over old times. 

On this Sabbath evening one of the officers of the church, 
seeing that the Allens had twice worshipped with them, felt 
that perhaps he ought to call and give them some encour- 
agement. As he came up the path he was surprised at the 
confused sound of voices. With his hand on the door-bell 
he paused, and through an opening between the curtains 
saw the young men of whose bar-room performance he had 
happened to hear. Not caring to meet any of their sort he 
went silently away, shaking his head with ill-omened signifi- 
cance. Of course the good man told his wife what sort of 
company their new neighbors kept, and whom didn’t she tell? 

The evening grew late, but no carriage came from the 
village. 

It’s very strange,” said Van Dam. 

“ If it doesn’t come you must stay all night,” said Mrs. 
Allen graciously. “ We can make you quite comfortable 
even if we have a little house.” 

Mr. Van Dam, and Gus also, were profuse in their thanks. 
Edith bit her lip with vexation. She felt that she and Zell 
were being placed in a false position since the gentlemen 
who to the world would seem so intimate with the family 
in reality held no relation to them. But no scruples of pru- 
dence occurred to thoughtless Zell. With an arch look 
toward her lover she said, — 

“ I think it threatens rain, so of course you cannot go.” 

“ Let us go out and see,” he said. 

In the darkness of the porch he put his arm around the 
unresisting girl and drew her to him, but he did not say like 
a true man, — 

“Zell, be my wife.” 

But poor Zell thought that was what all his attention and 
show of affection meant. 


i 82 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Edith and Gus joined them, and the latter thought also 
to put his regard in the form of caressing action, rather 
than in honest outspoken words, but she turned and said a 
little sharply, — 

“ You have no right.” 

Give me the right then,” he whispered. 

Whether I shall ever do that I cannot say. It depends 
somewhat on yourself. But I cannot now and here.” 

The warning hand of Van Dam was reached through the 
darkness and touched Gus’s arm. 

The next morning they walked back to the village, were 
driven two or three miles to the nearest railway station, and 
took the train to the city, having promised to come again 
soon. 

The week following their departure was an eventful one to 
the inmates of the little cottage, and all unknown the most 
unfavorable influences were at work against them. The 
Sunday hangers-on of a tavern have their points of contact 
with the better classes, and gossip is a commodity always 
in demand, whatever brings it to market. Therefore the 
scenes in the dining and bar rooms, in which Mrs. Allen’s 
“ friends ” had played so prominent a part, were soon por- 
trayed in hovel and mansion alike, with such exaggerations 
and distortions as a story inevitably suffers as passed along. 
The part acted by the young men was certainly bad 
enough, but rumor made it much worse. Then this stream 
of gossip was met by another coming from the wife of the 
good man who had called with the best intentions on Sun- 
day evening, but, pained at the nature of the Allens’ associ- 
ations, had gone lamenting to his wife, and she had gone 
lamenting to the majority of the elder ladies of the church. 
These two streams uniting, quite a tidal wave of “ I want to 
knows,” and “ painful surprises,” swept over Pushton, and 
the Allens suffered wofully through their friends. They had 


IVB CAN^T WORIC. 


183 

already received some reconnoitering calls, and a few from 
people who wanted to be neighborly. But the truth was 
the people of Pushton had been somewhat perplexed. They 
did not know where to place the Allens. The fact that 
Mr. Allen had been a rich merchant, and lived on Fifth 
Avenue, c ounted for something. But then even the natives of 
Pushton knew that all kinds of people lived on Fifth Avenue, 
as elsewhere, and that some of the most disreputable were 
the richest. A clearer testimonial than that was therefore 
needed. Then again there was another puzzle. The fact 
that Mr. Allen had failed, and that they lived in a little house, 
indicated poverty. But their style of dressing and ordering 
from the store also suggested not a little property left. 
The humbler portion of the community doubted whether 
they were the style of people for them to call on, and the 
rumor of Rose Lacey’s treatment, getting abroad in spite 
of Arden’s injunction to the contrary, confirmed these 
doubts, and alienated this class. The more wealthy and 
fashionably inclined doubted the grounds for their calling, 
having by no means made up their minds whether they could 
take the Allens into their exclusive circle. So thus far Mrs. 
Allen and her daughters had given audience to a sort of 
middle class of skirmishers and scouts representing no one 
in particular save themselves, who from a penchant in that 
direction went out and obtained information, so that the 
more solid ranks behind could know what to do. In addi- 
tion, as we have intimated, there were a few good kindly 
people who said, — 

“These strangers have come to live among us, and we 
must give them a neighborly welcome.” 

But there was something in their homely honest hearti- 
ness that did not suit Mrs. Allen’s artificial taste, and she 
rather snubbed them. 

“Heaven deliver us soon from Pushton,” she said, “if 


184 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


the best people have no more air of quality than these out- 
landish tribes. They all look and act as if they had come 
out of the ark.” 

If the Allens had frankly and patiently accepted their 
poverty and misfortunes, and by close economy and some 
form of labor had sought to maintain an honest inde- 
pendence, they could soon, through this latter class, have 
become en rapport with, not the wealthy and fashionable, 
but the finest people of the community ; people having the 
refinement, intelligence, and heart to make the best friends 
we can possess. It might take some little time. It ought 
to. Social recognition and esteem should be earned. Un- 
less strangers bring clear letters of credit, or established 
reputation, they must expect to be put on probation. But 
if they adopt a course of simple sincerity and dignity, and 
especially one of great prudence, they are sure to find the 
right sort of friends, and win the social position to which 
they are justly entitled. But let the finger of scandal and 
doubt be pointed toward them, and all having sons and 
daughters will stand aloof on the ground of self- protection, 
if nothing else. The taint of scandal, like the taint of 
leprosy, causes a general shrinking away. 

The finger of doubt and scandal in Pushton was now 
most decidedly pointed toward the Allens. It was reported 
around, — 

“ Their father was a Wall Street gambler who lost all in a 
big speculation and died suddenly or committed suicide. 
They belonged to the ultra-fast fashionable set in New York, 
and the events of the past Sabbath show that they are 
not the persons for self-respecting people to associate with.” 

Some of the rather dissipated clerks and semi-loafers 
of the village were inclined to . make the acquaintance of 
such stylish handsome girls, but the Allens received the least 
advance from them with ineffable scorn. 


W£ CAN^T WORK. 


185 


Thus within the short space of a month Mrs. Allen had, 
by her policy, contrived to isolate her family as completely 
as if they had had a pestilence. 

Even Mrs. Lacey and Rose were inclined to pass from 
indignation to contempt ; for Mr. Lacey was present at the 
scene in the bar-room, and reported that the two young 
bucks were friends of their new neighbors, the Allens, and 
had stayed there all Sunday night because they darsn’t go 
back to town.” 

“ Well,” said Rose, “ with all their airs, I haven’t got to 
keeping company with that style of men yet.” 

Cease to call yourself my sister if you ever do know- 
ingly,” said Arden sternly. “I don’t believe Edith Allen 
knows the character of these men. They would not report 
*^hemselves, and who is to do it? ” ■ 

“ Perhaps you had better,” said Rose maliciously. 

Arden’s only answer was a dark frowning look. A severe 
conflict was progressing in his mind. One impulse was to 
regard Edith as unworthy of another thought. But his heart 
pleaded for her, and the thought that she was different from 
the rest, and capable of developing a character as beautiful 
as her person, grew stronger as he dwelt upon it. 

‘‘ Like myself, she is related to others that drag her 
down,” he thought, ‘^and she seems to have no friend or 
brother to protect or warn her. Even if this over-dressed 
young fool is her lover, if she could have seen him prostrate 
on the bar-room floor, she would never look at him again. 
If she would I would never look at her.” 

His romantic nature became impressed with the idea that 
he might become in some sense her unknown knight and 
protector, and keep her from marrying a man that would 
sink to what his father was. Therefore he passed the house 
as often ns he could in hope that there might be some 
opportunity of seeing her. 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


1 86 

To poor Edith troubles thickened fast, for, as we have 
seen, the brunt of everything came on her. Early on the 
forenoon of Monday the carpenter appeared, asking with a 
hard, determined tone for his money, adding with satire, — 

“ I suppose it’s all right of course. People who want 
everything done at once must expect to pay promptly.” 

^‘Your bill is much too large — n^uch larger than you 
gave us any reason to suppose it would be,” said Edith. 

“ I’ve only charged you regular rates, miss, and you put 
me to no little inconvenience besides.” 

“ That’s not the point. It’s double the amount you gave 
us to understand it would be, and if you should deduct the 
damage caused by your delay it would greatly reduce it. I 
do not feel willing that this bill should be paid as it stands.” 

“Very well then,” said the man, coolly rising. “You 
threatened me with a lawyer ; I’ll let my lawyer settle with 
you.” 

“Edith,” said Mrs. Allen majestically, “bring my check- 
book.” 

“Don’t pay it, mother. He can’t make us pay such a 
bill in view of the fact that he left our roof open in the 
rain.” 

“ Do as I bid you,” said Mrs. Allen impressively. 

“There,” she said to the chuckling builder, in lofty scorn, 
throwing toward him a check as if it were dirt. “ Now 
leave the presence of ladies whom you don’t seem to know 
much about.” 

The man reddened and went out muttering that “ he had 
seen quite as good ladies before ” 

Two days later a letter from Mrs. Allen’s bank brought 
dismay by stating that she had overdrawn her account. 

The next day there came a letter from their lawyer saying 
that a messenger from the bank had called upon him — that 
he was sorry they had spent all their money — that he cuuid 


WE CAN^T WOE AT. 1 8 / 

not sell the stock he held at any price now — and they had 
better sell their house in the country and board. 

This Mrs. Allen was inclined to do, but Edith said almost 
fiercely, — 

“ I won’t sell it. I am bound to have some place of 
refuge in this hard pitiless world. I hold the deed of this 
property, and we certainly can get something to eat off of 
it, and if we must starve, no one at least can disturb us.” 

“ What can we do? ” said Mrs. Allen, crying and wringing 
her hands. 

“ We ought to have saved our money and gone to work 
at something,” answered Edith sternly. 

“ I am not able to work,” whined Laura. 

I don’t know how to work, and I won’t starve either,” 
cried Zell passionately. “I shall write to Mr. Van Dam 
this very day and tell him all about it.” 

“ I would rather work my fingers off,” retorted Edith 
scornfully, “ than have a man come and marry me out of 
charity, finding me as helpless as if I were picked up off the 
street, and on the street we should soon be, without shelter 
or friends, if we sold this place.” 

And so the blow fell upon them, and such was the spirit 
with which they bore it. 


i88 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE TEMPTATION. 


HE same mail brought them a long bill from Mr. Hard, 



i accompanied with a very polite but decisive note say- 
ing that it was his custom to have a monthly settlement with 
his customers. 

The rest of the family looked with new dismay and help' 
lessness at this, and Edith added bitterly, — 

There are half a dozen other bills also.” 

“What can we do?” again Mrs. Allen cried piteously. 
“ If you girls had only accepted some of your splendid 
offers — ” 

“ Hush, mother,” said Edith imperiously. “ I have heard 
that refrain too often already,” and the resolute practical 
girl went to her room and shut herself up to think. 

Two hours later she came down to lunch with the deter- 
mined air of one who had come to a conclusion. 

“These bills must be met, in part at least,” she said, 
“and the sooner the better. After that we must buy no 
more than we can pay for, if it’s only a crust of bread. 1 
shall take the first train to-morrow, and dispose of some of 
my jewelry. Who of you will contribute some also? We 
all have more than we shall ever need.” 

“ Pawn our jewelry ! ” they all shrieked. 

“ No, sell it,” said Edith firmly. 

“You hateful creature!” sobbed Zell. “If Mr. Van 
Dam heard it he would never come near me again.” 


THE TEMPTA TION. 1 89 

'' If he’s that kind of a man, he had better not,” was the 
sharp retort. 

“ I’ll never forgive you, if you do it. You shall not spoil 
all my chances and your own too. He as good as offered 
himself to me, and I insist on your giving me a chance to 
write to him before you take one of your mad steps.” 

They all clamored against her purpose so strongly that 
Edith was borne down and reluctantly gave way. Zell wrote 
immediately a touching, pathetic letter that would have 
moved a man of one knightly instinct to come to her rescue. 
Van Dam read it with a look of fiendish exultation, and 
calling on Gus said, — 

“ We will go up to-morrow. The right time has come. 
They won’t be nice as to terms any longer.” 

It was an unfortunate thing for Edith that she had yielded 
at this time to the policy of waiting one hour longer. In 
the two days that intervened before the young men ap- 
peared there was time for that kind of thought that tempts 
and weakens. She was in that most dangerous attitude of 
irresolution. The toilsome path of independent labor 
looked very hard and thorny — more than that, it looked 
lonely. This latter aspect causes multitudes to shrink, 
where the work would not. She knew enough of society to 
feel sure that her mother was right, and that the moment 
she entered on bread-winning by any form of honest labor, 
her old fashionable world was lost to her forever. And she 
knew of no other world, she had no other friends save those 
of the gilded past. She did not, with her healthful frame 
and energetic spirit, shrink so much from labor as from as- 
sociation with the laboring classes. She had been educated 
to think of th«m only as coarse and common, and to make 
no distinctions. 

“ Even if a few are good and intelligent as these Laceys 
seem, they can’t understand my feelings and past life, so 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


190 

there will be no congeniality, and I shall have to work prac- 
tically alone. Perhaps in time I shall become coarse and 
common like the rest,” she said with a half-shudder at the 
thought of old-fashioned garb, slipshod dressing, and long 
monotonous hours at one employment. All these were in- 
separable in her mind from poverty and labor. 

Then after a long silence, during which she had sat with 
her chin resting on her hands, she continued, — 

“ I believe I could stand it if I could earn a support out 
of the garden with such a man as Malcom to help me. 
There are variety and beauty there, and scope for constant 
improvement. But I fear a woman can’t make a livelihood 
by such out-of-door, man-like work. Good heavens ! what 
would my Fifth Avenue friends say if it should get to their 
ears that Edith Allen was raising cabbages for market?” 

Then in contrast, as the alternative to labor, Gus Elliot 
continually presented himself. 

“ If he were only more of a man ! ” she thought. But 
if he loves me so well as to marry me in view of my poverty, 
he must have some true manhood about him. I suppose I 
could learn to love him after a fashion, and I certainly like 
him as well as any one I know. Perhaps if I were with him 
to cheer, incite, and scold, he might become a fair business 
man after all.” 

And so Edith in her helplessness and fear of work was 
tempted to enter on that forlorn experiment which so many 
energetic women of decided character have made — that of 
marrying a man who can’t stand alone, or do anything but 
dawdle, in the hope that they may be able to infuse in him 
some of their own moral and intellectual backbone. 

But Gus Elliot was not man enough, had not sense enough, 
to give her this poor chance of matrimonial escape from 
labor that seemed to her like a giant taskmaster, waiting with 
grimy, homy hand to claim her as another of his innumer- 


THE TEMPTATION. 


91 


able slaves. Though a life of lonely, ill-paid toil would have 
been better for Edith than marriage to Gus, he was missing 
the one golden opportunity of his life, when he thought of 
Edith Allen in other character than his wife. God uses in- 
struments, and she alone could give him a chance of being 
a man among men. In his meditated baseness toward her, 
he aimed a fatal blow at his own life. 

And this is ever true of sins against the human brother- 
hood. The recoil of a blow struck at another’s interests 
has often the retributive wrath of heaven in it, and the 
selfish soul that would destroy a fellow-creature for its own 
pleasure is itself destroyed. 

False pride, false education, helpless unskilled hands, an 
untaught, unbraced moral nature, made strong, resolute, 
beautiful Edith Allen so weak, so untrue to herself, that she 
was ready to throw herself away on so thin a shadow of a 
man as Gus Elliot. She might have known, indeed she half 
feared, that wretchedness would follow such a union. It is 
torment to a large strong-souled woman to despise utterly 
the man to whom she is chained. She revolts at his weak- 
ness and irresolution, and the probabilities are that she will 
sink into that worst phase of feminine drudgery, the sup- 
porting of a husband, who, though able, will not work, 
and that she will become that social monster of whom it is 
said with a significant laugh, — 

She is the man of the house.” 

The only thing that reconciled her to the thought of mar- 
rying Gus was the hope that she could inspire him to better 
things ; and he seemed the only refuge from the pressing 
troubles that environed her, and from a lonely life of labor ; 
for the thought that she could bring herself to marry among 
the laboring classes had never occurred to her. 

So she came to the miserable conclusion on the afternoon 
of the second day, — 


192 


WHAT CAN SHE HOP 


I’ll take him if he will me, knowing how I am situated.” 

If Gus could have been true and manly one evening, he 
might have secured a prop that would have kept him up, 
though it would have been at sad cost to Edith. 

On the afternoon of Friday, Zell returned from the village 
with radiant face, and, waving a letter before Edith who sat 
moping in her room, exclaimed with a thrill of ecstasy in 
her tone, — 

“ They are coming. Help make me irresistible.” 

Edith felt the influence of Zell’s excitement, and the 
mysteries of the toilet began. Nature had done much for 
these girls, and they knew how to enhance every charm by 
art. Edith good-naturedly helped her sister, weaving pure 
shimmering pearls in the heavy braids of her hair, whose 
raven hue made the fair face seem more fair. The toilet- 
table of a queen had not the secrets of Zell’s beauty, for 
the most skilful art must deal with the surface, while Zell’s 
loveliness glowed from within. Her rich young blood man- 
tled her cheek with a color that came and went with her 
passing thoughts, and was as unlike the flaming, unchanging 
red of a painted face as sunlight that flickers through a 
breezy grove is to a gas-jet. Her eyes shone with the deep 
excitement of a passionate love, and the feeling that the 
crisis of her life was near. Even Edith gazed with wondering 
admiration at her beauty, as she gave the finishing touches 
to her toilet, before she commenced her own. 

Discarded Laura had a sorry part in the poor little play. 
She was to be ill and unable to appear, and so resigned her- 
self to a novel and solitude. Mrs. Allen was to discreetly 
have a headache and retire early, and thus all embarrassing 
third parties should be kept out of the way. 

The late afternoon of Friday (unlucky day for once) 
brought the gentlemen, dressed as exquisitely as ever, but 
the vision on the rustic little porch almost dazzled even 


THE TEMPTATION. 


193 


their experienced eyes. They had seen these girls more 
richly dressed before and more radiant.' There was, how- 
ever, a delicious pensiveness hanging over them now, like 
those delicate veils that enhance beauty and conceal noth- 
ing. And there was a deep undertone of excitement that 
gave them a magnetic power that they could not have in 
quieter moods. 

Their appearance and manner of greeting caused secret 
exultation in the black hearts that they expected would be 
offered to them that night, but Edith looked so noble as 
well as beautiful that Gus rather trembled in view of his 
part in the proposed tragedy. As warm and gentle as had 
been her greeting, she did not appear like a girl that could 
be safely trifled with. However, Gus knew his one source of 
courage and kept up on brandy all day, and he proposed a 
heavier onslaught than ever on poor Mrs. Allen’s wine. But 
Edith did not bring it out. She meant that all that was said 
that night should be spoken in sober earnest. 

They sat down to cards for a while after tea, during which 
conversation was rather forced, consisting mainly of extrava- 
gant compliments from the gentlemen, and tender, meaning 
glances which the girls did not resent. Mrs. Allen languidly 
joined them for a while, and excused herself saying, — 

“ My poor head has been too heavily taxed of late,” 
though how, save as a small distillery of helpless tears, we 
do not remember. 

The regret of the young men at being deprived of her 
society was quite affecting in view of the fact that they had 
often wished her dead and out of the way. 

“ Why should we shut ourselves up within walls this lovely 
spring evening, this delicious earnest of the coming sum- 
mer?” said Mr. Van Dam to Zell. ‘‘Come, put on your 
shawl and show me your garden by moonlight.” 

Zell exultingly complied, believing that now she would 


194 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


show him, net their poor little garden, but the paradise of 
requited love. A moment later her graceful form, bending 
like a willow toward him, vanished, in the dusky light of the 
rising moon, down the garden path which led to the little 
arbor. 

Gus, having the parlor to himself, went over to the sofa, 
seated himself by the side of Edith and sought to pass his 
arm around her waist. 

^‘You have no right,” again said Edith with dignity, 
shrinking away. 

“ But will you not give the right ? Behold me a suppliant 
at your feet,” said Gus tenderly, but comfortably keeping 
his seat. 

“ Mr. Elliot,” said Edith earnestly, do you realize that 
you are asking a poor girl to marry you? ” 

‘^Your own beautiful self is beyond all gold,” said Gus 
gushingly. 

‘‘You did not think so a month ago,” retorted Edith 
bitterly. 

“ I was a fool. My friends discouraged it, but I find I 
cannot live without you.” 

This sounded well to poor Edith, but she said half 
sadly, — 

“ Perhaps your friends are right. You cannot afford to 
marry me.” 

“ But I cannot give you up,” said Gus with much show 
of feeling. “ What would my life be without you ? I ad- 
mit to you that my friends are opposed to my marriage, but 
am I to blight my life for them ? Am I, who have seen the 
best of New York for years, to give up the loveliest girl I 
have ever seen in it? I can not and I will not,” concluded 
Gus tragically. 

“ And are you willing to give up all for me ? ” said Edith 
feelingly, her glorious eyes becoming gentle and tender. 


THE TEMPTATION. 1 95 

Yes, if you will give up all for me,” said Gus languish- 
ingly, taking her hand and drawing her toward him. 

Edith did not resist now, but leaned her head on his 
shoulder with the blessed sense of rest and at least partial 
security. Her cruelly harassed heart and burdened, threat- 
ened life could welcome even such poor shelter as Gus Elliot 
offered. The spring evening was mild and breathless, and 
its hush and peace seemed to accord with her feelings. 
There was no ecstatic thrilling of her heart in the divine 
rapture of mutual and open recognition of love, for no such 
love existed on her part. It was only a languid feeling 
of contentment — moon - lighted with sentiment, not sun- 
lighted with joy — that she had found some one who would 
not leave her to labor and struggle alone. 

“ Gus,” she said pathetically, “ we are very poor ; we have 
nothing. We are almost desperate from want. Think twice 
ere you engage yourself to a girl so situated. Are you able 
to thus burden yourself?” 

Gus thought these words led the way to the carrying out 
of Van Dam’s instructions, for he said eagerly, — 

“ I know how you are situated. I learned all from Zell’s 
letter to Van Dam, but our hearts only cling the closer to 
you, and you must let me take care of you at once. If you 
will only consent to a secret marriage I can manage it.” 

Edith slowly raised her head from his shoulder. Gus 
could not meet her eyes, but felt them fixed searchingly on 
his face. There was a distant mutter of thunder like a 
warning voice. He continued hurriedly, — 

“ I think you will agree with me, when you think of it, 
that such a marriage would be best. It would be hard for 
me to break with my family at once. Indeed I could not 
afford to anger my father now. But I would soon get 
established in business myseif, and I would work so hard if I 
knew that you were dependent on me ! ” 


196 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“Then you would wish me to remain here in obscurity 
your wife,” said Edith in a low constrained tone that Gus 
did not quite like. 

“ Oh, no, not for the world,” replied Gus hurriedly. “ It 
is because I so long for your daily and hourly presence that 
I urge you to come to the city at once.” 

“What is your plan then?” asked Edith in the same low 
tone. 

“ Go with me to the city, on the boat that passes here in 
the evening. I will see that you are lodged where you will 
have every comfort, yes luxury. We can there be quietly 
married, and when the right time comes we can openly 
acknowledge it.” 

There was a tremble in Edith’s voice when she again 
spoke, it might be from mere excitement or anger. At any 
rate Gus grew more and more uncomfortable. He had a 
vague feeling that Edith suspected his falseness, and that her 
seeming calmness might presage a storm, and he found it 
impossible to meet her full searching gaze, fearing that his 
face would betray him. He was bad enough for his project, 
but not quite brazen enough. 

She detached herself from his encircling arm, went to a 
book-stand near and took from it a richly bound Bible. 
With this she came and stood before Gus, who was half 
trembling with fear and perplexity, and said in a tone so 
grave and solemn that his weak impressible nature was 
deeply moved, — 

“ Mr. Elliot, perhaps I do not understand you. I have 
received several offers before, but never one like yours this 
evening. Indeed I need not remind you that you have 
spoken to me in a different vein. I know circumstances 
have greatly altered with me. That I am no longer the 
daughter of a millionnaire, I am learning to my sorrow, but 
I am the same Edith Allen that you knew of old. I would 


THE TEMPTATION-. 


197 


not like to misjudge you, one of my oldest, most intimate 
friends of the happy past. And yet, as I have said, I do 
not quite understand your offer. Place your hand on this 
sacred book with me, and, as you hope for God’s mercy, 
answer me this truly. Would you wish your own sister to 
accept such an offer, if she were situated like myself ? Look 
me, an honest girl with all my faults and poverty, in the face, 
and tell me as a true brother.” 

Gus felt himself in an awful dilemma. Something in 
Edith’s solemn tone and look convinced him that both he 
and Van Dam had misjudged her. His knees trembled so 
that he could scarcely rise. A fascination that he could not 
resist drew his face, stamped with guilt, toward her, and slowly 
he raised his fearful eyes and for a moment met Edith’s 
searching, questioning gaze, then dropped them in confusion. 

Why do you not put your hand on the book and speak ? ” 
she asked in the low, concentrated voice of passion. 

Again he looked hurriedly at her. A flash of lightning 
illumined her features, and he quailed before an expression 
such as he had never seen before on any woman’s face. 

I — I — cannot,” he faltered. 

The Bible dropped from her hands, they clasped, and for 
a moment she seemed to writhe in agony, and in a low, 
shuddering tone she said, — 

“ There are none to trust — not one.” 

Then, as if possessed by a sudden fury, she seized him 
roughly by the arm and said hoarsely, — 

“ Speak, man ! what then did you mean ? What have all 
your tender speeches and caressing actions meant? ” 

Her face grew livid with rage and shame as the truth 
dawned upon her, while poor feeble Gus lost his poise utterly 
and stood like a detected criminal before. her. 

You asked me to marry you,” she hissed. ‘‘ Must no 
one ask your immaculate sisters to do this, that you could 


198 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


not answer my simple question? Or, did you mean some- 
thing else ? How dare you exist longer in the semblance 
of a man ? You have broken the sacred law of hospitality, 
and here, in my little home that has sheltered you, you 
purpose my destruction. You take mean advantage of my 
poverty and trouble, and like a cowardly hunter must seek 
out a wounded doe as your game. My grief and misfortune 
should have made a sanctuary about me, but the orphaned 
and unfortunate, God’s trust to all true men, only invite 
your evil designs, because defenceless. Wretch, would you 
have made me this offer if my father had lived, or if I had 
a brother?” 

It’s all Van Dam’s work, curse him,” groaned Gus, white 
as a ghost. 

“Van Dam’s work ! ” shrieked Edith, “and he’s with Zell ! 
So this is a conspiracy. You both are the flower of chiv- 
alry,” and her mocking, half-hysterical laugh curdled Gus’s 
blood, as her dress fluttered down the path that led to the 
arbor. 

She appeared in the doorway like a sudden, supernatural 
vision. Zell’s head rested on Mr. Van Dam’s shoulder, and 
he was portraying in low, ardent tones the pleasures of city 
life, which would be hers as his wife. 

“ It is true,” he had said, “ our marriage must be secret 
for the present. You must learn to trust me. But the time 
will soon come when I can acknowledge you as my peerless 
bride.” 

Foolish little Zell was too eager to escape present miseries 
to be nice and critical as to the conditions, and too much in 
love, too young and unsuspecting, to doubt the man who 
had petted her from a child. She agreed to do anything he 
thought best. 

Tlien Edith’s entrance and terrible words broke her pretty 
dream in fragments. 


THE TEMPTATION. 


199 

Snatching her sister from Van Dam’s embrace, she cried 
passionately, — 

“ Leave this place. Your villany is discovered.” 

“Really, Miss Edith” — began Van Dam with a poor 
show of dignity. 

“ Leave instantly ! ” cried Edith imperiously. “ Do you 
wish me to strike you?” 

“ Edith, are you mad ? ” cried Zell. 

“ Your sister must have lost her reason,” said Van Dam,, 
approaching Zell. 

“ Stand back,” cried Edith sternly. “ I may go mad be- 
fore this hateful night passes, but while I have strength and 
reason left, I will drive the wolves from our fold. Answer 
me this : have you not been proposing secret marriage to my 
sister? ” 

Her face looked spirit-like in the pale moonlight, and her 
eyes blazed like coals of fire. As she stood there with 
her arm around her bewildered, trembling sister, she seemed 
a guardian angel holding a baffled fiend at bay. 

This was literally true, for even hardened Van Dam quailed 
before her, and took refuge in the usual resource of his satanic 
ally — lies. 

“ I assure you. Miss Edith, you do me great injustice. I 
have only asked your sister that our marriage be private for 
a time — ” 

“The same wretched bait — the same transparent false- 
hood,” Edith cried. “ We cannot be married openly at our 
own home, but must go away with you, two spotless knights,, 
to New York. Do you take us for silly fools? You know 
well what the world would say of ladies that so compromised 
themselves, and no true man would ask this of a woman he 
meant to make his wife. These premises are mine. Leave 
them.” 

Van Dam was an old villain who had lived all his life in. 


TOO 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


the atmosphere of brawls and intrigue, therefore he said 
brazenly, — 

‘‘ There is no use in wasting words on an angry woman. 
Zell, my darling, do me justice. Don’t give me up, as I never 
shall you,” and he vanished on the road toward the village, 
where Gus was skulking on before him. 

“ You weak, unmitigated fool,” said he savagely, “ why did 
I bring you ? ” 

“ Look here, Van Dam,” whined Gus, “ that isn’t the way 
to speak to a gentleman.” 

^‘ Gentleman ! ha, ha,” laughed Van Dam bitterly. 

“ I be hanged if I feel like one to-night. A pretty scrape 
you have got me into,” snarled Gus. 

“Well,” said Van Dam cynically. “I thought I was too 
old to learn much more, but you may shoot me if I ever go 
on a lark again with one of your weak villains who is bad 
enough for anything, but has brains enough only to get found 
out. If it hadn’t been for you I would have carried my 
point. And I will yet,” he added with an oath. “ I never 
give up a game I have once started.” 

And so they plodded on with mutual revilings and profan- 
ity, till Gus became afraid of Van Dam, and was silent. 

The dark cloud that had risen unnoted in the south, like 
the slowly gathering and impending wrath of God, now broke 
upon them in sudden gusts, and then chased them, with pelt- 
ing torrents of rain and stinging hail, into the village. The 
sin- wrought chaos — the hellish discord of their evil natures 
— seemed to have infected the peaceful spring evening, for 
now the very spirit of the storm appeared abroad. The rush 
and roar of the wind was so strong, the lightning so vivid, 
and the crashing thunder peals overhead so terrific, that even 
hardened Van Dam was awed, and Gus was so frightened and 
conscience-smitten that he could scarcely keep up with his 
companion, but shuddered at the thought of being left alone. 


THE TEMPTATION. 


20 r 


At last they reached the tavern, roused the startled land- 
lord, and obtained welcome shelter. 

What ! ” he said, are the boys after you? ” 

“ No, no,” said Van Dam impatiently ; “ the devil is after 
us in this infernal storm. Give us two rooms, a fire, and 
some brandy as soon as possible, and charge what you 
please.” 

When Gus viewed himself in the mirror, as he at once did 
from long habit, his haggard face, drenched, mud-splashed 
form, awakened sincere self-commiseration ; and his stained, 
bedraggled clothes troubled him more than his soiled char- 
acter. He did not remember the time when he had not 
been well dressed, and to be so was his religion — the sacred 
instinct of his life. Therefore he was inexpressibly shocked, 
and almost ready to cry, as he saw his forlorn reflection in 
the glass. And he had no change with him. What should 
he do ? All other phases of the disastrous night were lost 
in this. 

“ There is nothing to be bought in this mean little town, 
and how can I go to the city in this plight?” he anxiously 
queried. 

“ Go to the devil then,” and the sympathetic Van Dam 
wrapped himself up and went to sleep. 

Gus worked fussily at his clothes till a late hour, devoutly 
hoping he should meet no one whom he knew before reach- 
ing his dressing-room in New York. 


202 


W//A 7 ’ CAAT StfE DO ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 

BLACK HANNIBAL’S WHITE HEART. 

DITH half led, half carried her sobbing sister to the 



JZv parlor. Mrs. Allen, no longer languid, and Laura from 
her exile, were already there, and with dismayed faces drew 
near the sofa where Zell had been placed. 

“ What has happened ? ” asked Mrs. Allen tremblingly. 

Edith’s self-control, now that her enemies were gone, gave 
way utterly, and sinking on the floor, she swayed back and 
forth, sobbing even more hysterically than Zell, and her 
mother and Laura, oppressed with the sense of some new 
impending disaster, caught the contagion of their bitter grief, 
and wept and wrung their hands also. 

The frightened maid stood in one door, with white ques- 
tioning face, and old gray-haired Hannibal in another, with 
streaming eyes of honest sympathy. 

‘‘ Speak, speak, what is the matter? ” almost shrieked Mrs. 
Allen. 

Edith could not speak, but Zell sobbed, “I — don’t ■— 
know. Edith — seems to have — gone — mad.” 

At last, after the application of restoratives, Edith so far 
recovered herself as to say brokenly, — 

“ We’ve been betrayed — they’re — villains. They never 
— meant — marriage at all.” 

“ That’s false ! ” screamed Zell. “ I won’t believe it of 
my lover, whatever may have been true of your mean little 
Gus Elliot. He promised to marry me, and you have spoiled 


BLACK IIANAUBAKS WHITE HEART 


203 


everything by your mad folly. I’ll never forgive you.” — 
When Zell’s wild fury would have ceased, cannot be said, 
but a new voice startled and awed them into silence. In the 
storm of sorrow and passion that raged within, the outer 
storm had risen unnoted, but now an awful peal of thunder 
broke over their heads and rolled away among the hills in 
deep reverberations. Another and a louder crash soon fol- 
lowed, and a solemn, expectant silence fell upon them akin 
to that when the noisy passionate world will suddenly cease 
its clamor as the trump of God proclaims the end. 

Merciful heaven ! we shall be struck,” said Mrs. Allen 
shudderingly. 

“ What’s the use of living?” said Zell in a hard, reckless 
tone. 

“What is there to live for?” sighed Edith, deep in her 
heart. “ There are none to be trusted — notone.” 

Instead of congratulations received with blushing happi- 
ness, and solitaire engagement rings, thus is shown the first 
result of Mrs. Allen’s policy, and of society’s injunction, — 

“ Keep your hands white, my dears.” 

The storm passed away, and they crept off to such poor 
rest as they could get, too miserable to speak, and too worn 
to renew the threatened quarrel that a voice seemingly from 
heaven had interrupted. 

The next morning they gathered at a late breakfast-table 
with haggard faces and swollen eyes. Zell looked hard and 
sullen, Edith’s face was so determined in its expression as 
to be stern. Mrs. Allen lamented feebly and indefinitely, 
Laura only appeared more settled in her apathy, and, like 
Zell and Edith, was utterly silent through the forlorn meal. 

When it was over, Zell went up to her room and Edith 
followed her. Zell had not spoken to her sister since the 
thunder peal had suddenly checked her bitter words. Edith 
dreaded the alienation she saw in Zell’s face, and felt wronged 


204 


IV// A T CAN S//E DO ? 


by it, knowing that she had only acted as truest friend and 
protector. But in order still to shield her sister she must 
secure her confidence, or else the danger averted the past 
evening would threaten as grimly as ever. She also realized 
how essential Zell’s help would be in the struggle for bread 
on which they must enter, and wished to obtain her hearty 
co-operation in some plan of work. She saw that labor now 
was inevitable, and must be commenced immediately. From 
Laura little was to be hoped. She seemed so lacking in 
mental and physical force since their troubles began, that it 
appeared as if nothing could arouse her. She threatened 
soon to become an invalid like her mother. The thought 
of help from the latter did not even occur to her. 

Edith had not slept, and as the chaos and bitterness of the 
past evening’s experience passed away, her practical mind 
began to concentrate itself on the problem of support. 
Her disappointment had not been so severe as that of Zell, 
by any means, and so she was in a condition to rally much 
sooner. She had never much more than liked Elliot, and 
now the very thought of him was sickening, and though 
labor and want might be hard indeed, and regret for all they 
had lost keen, still she was spared the bitterer pain of a 
hopeless love. 

But it was just this that Zell feared, and though she 
repeated to herself over and over again Van Dam’s last 
words, “I will never give you up,” she feared that he would, 
or what would be equally painful, she would be compelled 
to give him up, for she could not disguise from herself that 
her confidence had been shaken. 

But sincere love is slow to believe evil of its object. If 
Van Dam had shown preference for another, Zell’s jealousy 
.and anger would have known no bounds, but this he had 
never done, and she could not bring herself to believe that 
•the man whom she had known since childhood, who had 


BLACA' //A AW/BA VS WH/TE HEART. 205 

always treated her with uniform kindness and most flattering 
attention, who had partaken of their hospitality so often and 
intimately that he almost seemed like one of the family, 
meditated the basest evil against her. 

“ Gus Elliot is capable of any meanness, but Edith was 
mistaken about my friend. And yet Edith has so insulted him 
that I fear he will never come to the house again,” she said 
with deep resentment. If I had declined a private marriage, 
I am sure he would have married me openly.” 

Therefore when Edith entered their little room Zell’s face 
was averted, and there was every evidence of estrangement. 
Edith meant to be kind and considerate, and patiently show 
the reasons for her action. 

She sat down and took her sister’s cold, impassive hand, 
saying, — 

“Zell, did I not help you dress in this very place last 
evening? Did I not wait against my judgment till Mr. Van 
Dam came ? These things prove to you that I would not 
put a straw between you and a true lover. Surely we have 
trouble enough without adding the bitter one of division and 
estrangement. If we don’t stand by each other now what 
will become of us? ” 

“What right had you to misjudge Mr. Van Dam by such 
a mean little scamp as Gus Elliot ? Why did you not give 
him a chance to explain himself ? ” 

“ O Zell, Zell, how can you be so blinded ? Did he not 
ask you to go away with him in the night — to elope, and 
then submit to a secret marriage in New York?” 

“Well, he told me there were good reasons that made 
such a course necessary at present.” 

“Are you George Allen’s daughter, that you could even 
listen to such a proposal? When you lived on Fifth Avenue 
would he have dared to even faintly suggest such a thing? 
Can he be a true lover who insults you to begin with, and, in 


•2o6 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


view of your misfortunes, instead of showing manly deli 
cacy and desire to shield, demands not only hard but inde- 
cent conditions ? Even if he purposed to marry you, what 
right has he to require of you such indelicate action as 
would make your name a byword and hissing among all 
your old acquaintances, and a lasting stain to your family? 
They would not receive you with respect again, though some 
might tolerate you and point you out as the girl so desperate 
for a husband that she submitted to the grossest indignity 
to get one.” 

Zell hung her head in s-hame and anger under Edith’s 
inexorable logic, but the anger was now turning against Van 
Dam. Edith continued, — 

“ A lady should be sought and won. It is for her to set 
the place and time of the wedding, and dictate the condi- 
tions. It is for her to say who shall be present and who 
absent, and woman, to whom a spotless name is everything, 
has the right, which even savage tribes recognize, to shield 
herself from the faintest imputation of immodesty by com- 
pelling her suitor to comply with the established custom and 
etiquette which are her safeguards. The daughter of a poor 
laborer would demand all this as a matter of course, and 
shall the beautiful Zell Allen, who has had scores of admirers, 
have all this reversed in her case, and be compelled to 
skulk away from the home in which she should be openly 
married, to hunt up a man at night who has made the pitiful 
promise that he will marry her somewhere at some time or 
other, on condition that no one shall know it till he is ready? 
Mark it well, the man who so insults a lady and all her 
family never means to marry her, or else he is so coarse and 
brutal in all his instincts that no decent woman ought to 
marry him.” 

Say no more,” said Zell in a low tone, I fear you are 
right, though I would rather die than believe it. O Edith, 


BLACK HANNIBAL'S WHITE HEART. 


Edith ! ” she cried in sudden passionate grief. “ My heart 
is broken. I loved him so ! I could have been so happy ! ” 

Edith took her in her arms and they cried together. At 
last Zell said languidly, — 

“ What can we do ? ” 

“We must go to work like other poor people. If we 
had only done so at first and saved every dollar we had left, 
we should not now be in our present deeply embarrassed 
condition. And yet Zell, if you, with your vigor and strength, 
will only stand by me, and help your best, we will see bright 
days yet. There must be some way by which two girls can 
make a livelihood here in Pushton, as elsewhere. We have 
at least a shelter, and I have great hopes of the garden.’' 

“ I don’t like a garden. I fear I couldn’t do much there. 
And it seems like man’s work too. I fear I shall be too 
wretched and ignorant to do anything.” 

“Not at all. Youth, health, and time, against all the 
troubles of the world.” (This was the best creed poor 
Edith then had.) “ Now,” she continued, encouragingly, 
“ you like housework. Of course we must dismiss our ser- 
vants, and if you did the work of the house with Laura, so 
that I had all my time for something else, it would be a great 
saving and help.” 

“ Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! that we should ever come to this ! ” 
said Zell despairingly. 

“ We have come to it, and must face the truth.” 

“Well, of course I’ll try,” said Zell with something of 
Laura’s apathy. Then with a sudden burst of passion she 
clenched her little hands and cried, — 

“ I hate him, the cold-hearted wretch, to treat his poor 
little Zell so shamefully ! ” and she paced up and down the 
room with inflamed eyes and cheeks. Then in equally sud- 
den revulsion she threw herself down on the floor with her 
head in her sister’s lap, and murmured, “ God forgive me, I 


208 


WHA T CAN' SHE DO ? 


love him still — I love him with my whole heart,” and sobbed 
till all her strength was gone. 

Edith sighed deeply. “ Can she ever be depended on? ” 
she thought. At last she lifted the languid form on the bed, 
threw over her an afghan, and bathed her head with cologne 
till the poor child fell asleep. 

Then she went down to Laura and her mother, to whom 
she explained more fully the events of last evening. Laura 
only muttered, “ shameful,” but Mrs. Allen whined, “ She 
could not understand it. Girls didn’t know how to manage 
any longer. There must be some misunderstanding, for 
no young men in the city could have meant to offer such 
an insult to an old and respectable family like theirs. She 
never heard of such a thing. If she could only have been 
present — ” 

“Hush, mother,” said Edith almost sternly. “It’s all 
past now. I should gladly believe that when you were a 
young lady such poor villains were not in good society. 
Moreover, such offers are not made to young ladies living 
on the avenue. This is more properly a case for shooting 
than management. I have no patience to talk any more 
about it. We must now try to conform to our altered cir- 
cumstances, and at least maintain our self-respect, and se- 
cure the comforts of life if possible. But we must now 
practise the closest economy. Laura, you will have to be 
mother’s maid, for of course we can keep no servants. I 
have a little money left, and will pay your maid to-day and 
let her go.” 

“ I don’t see how I can get along without her,” said Mrs. 
Allen helplessly. 

“ You must,” said Edith firmly. “ We have no money to 
pay her any longer, and your daughters will try to supply her 
place.” 

Mrs. Allen did not formally abdicate her natural position 


BLACK HANNIBAVS IV/IITE IIEABT. 


209 


as head of the family, but in the hour of almost shipwreck 
Edith took the helm out of the feeble hands. Yet the young 
girl had little to guide her, no knowledge and experience 
worth mentioning, and the sea was rough and beset with 
dangers. 

The maid had no regrets at departure, and went away with 
something of the satisfaction of a rat leaving a sinking ship. 
But with old Hannibal it was a different affair. 

“ You aint gwine to send me away too, is you. Miss Edie ? ” 
said he,- with the accent of dismay. 

“My good old friend,” said Edith feelingly, “the only 
friend I’m sure of in this great world full of people, I fear I 
must. We can’t afford to pay you even half what you are 
worth any longer.” 

“I’se sure I doesn’t eat sech a mighty lot,” Hannibal 
sniffled out. 

“ Oh, I hope we sha’n’t reach starvation point,” said Edith, 
smiling in spite of her sore heart. “ But, Hannibal, you are 
a valuable servant ; besides, there are plenty of rich upstarts 
who would give you anything you would ask, just to have you 
come and give an old and aristocratic air to their freshly- 
gilded mansions.” 

“ Miss Edie, you doesn’t know nothin’ ’tall about my feel- 
in’s. What’s money to ole Hannibal ! I’se lived ’mong de 
millionnaires and knows all ’bout money. It only buys half 
of ’em a heap of trouble and doesn’t keep dar hearts from 
gettin’ sore. When Massa Allen was a livin’, he paid me 
big, and guv me all de money I wanted, and if he, at last, 
lost my money which he keep, it’s no mo’n he did wid his 
own. And now, Miss Edie, I toted you and you’se sisters 
roun on my shouler when you was babies, and I hain’t got 
nothin’ left but you, no friends, no nothin’ ; and if you send 
me away, it’s like gwine out into de wilderness. What ’ud 
I do in some strange man’s big house, when my heart’s here 


210 


WHAT CAN SHE DQ ? 


in de little house ? My heart is all ole Hannibal has left, if 
’tis black, and if you send me away you break it. I’d a heap 
rader stay here in Bushtown and starve to death wid you 
alls, dan live in de grandest house on de avenue.” 

“ O Hannibal,” said Edith, putting her hand on the old 
man’s shoulder, and looking at him with her large eyes 
dimmed with grateful tears, ‘‘you don’t know how much 
good you have done me. I have felt that there w5re none 
to trust — not one, but you are as true as steel. Your heart 
isn’t black, as I told you before. It’s whiter than mine. Oh, 
that other men were like you ! ” 

“Bress you. Miss Edie, I isn’t a man, I’se only a nigger.” 

“You are my true and trusted friend,” said Edith, “and 
you shall be one of the family as long as you wish to stay 
with us.” 

“ Now bress you. Miss Edie, you’se an angel for sayin’ 
dat. Don’t be afeard, I’se good for sumpen yet, if I be old. 
I once work for fear in de South ; den I work for money, 
and now I’se gwine to work for lub, and it ’pears I can feel 
my ole jints limber up at de tought. It ’pears like dat lub 
is de only ting dat can make one young agin. Neber you 
fear, Miss Edie, we’ll pull trough, and I’se see you a grand 
lady yet. A true lady you’se allers be, even if you went out 
to scrub.” 

“ Perhaps I’ll have to, Hannibal. I know how to do that 
about as well as anything else that people are willing to pay 
for.” 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 211 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 

T the dinner-table it was reluctantly admitted to be 



necessary that Edith should go to the city in the 
morning and dispose of some of their jewelry. She went 
by the early train, and the familiar aspects of Fourth Avenue 
as she rode down town were as painful as the features of an 
old friend turned away from us in estrangement. She kept 
her face closely veiled, hoping to meet no acquaintances, 
but some whom she knew unwittingly brushed against her. 
Her mother’s last words were, — 

“ Go to some store where we are not known, to sell the 
jewelry.” 

Edith’s usually good judgment seemed to fail her in this 
case, as generally happens when we listen to the suggestions 
of false pride. She went to a jeweller down town who was 
an utter stranger. The man’s face to whom she handed 
her valuables for inspection did not suggest pure gold that 
had passed through the refiner’s fire, though he professed to 
deal in that article. An unknown lady, closely veiled, offer- 
ing such rich articles for sale, looked suspicious ; but, 
whether it was right or wrong, there was a chance for him 
to make an extraordinary profit. Giving a curious glance 
at Edith, who began to have misgivings from the manner 
and appearance of the man, he swept the little cases up and 
took them to the back part of the store, on pretence ot 
wishing to consult his partner. He soon returned and said 
rather harshly, — 


212 


JV//A r CAN SHE DO ? 


‘‘ I don’t quite understand this matter, and vve are not in 
the habit of doing this kind of business. It may be all right 
that you should offer this jewelry, and it may not. If we take 
it, we must run the risk. We will give you” — offering 
scarcely half its value. 

“ I assure you it is all right,” said Edith indignantly, at 
the same time with a sickening sensation of fear. “ It all 
belongs to us, but we are compelled to part with it from 
sudden need.” 

“ That is about the way they all talk,” said the man’ coolly. 

We will give you no more than I said.” 

“Then give me back my jewelry,” said Edith, scarcely 
able to stand, through fear and shame. 

“ I don’t know about that. Perhaps I ought to call in an 
officer any way and have the thing investigated. But I give 
you your choice, either to take this money, or go with a 
policeman before a justice and have the thing explained,” and 
he laid the money before her. 

She shuddered at the thought. Edith Allen in a police 
court, explaining why she was selling her jewelry, the gifts 
of her dead father, followed by a rabble in the street, her 
name in the papers, and she the town-talk and scandal of 
her old set on the avenue ! How Gus Elliot and Van Dam 
would exult ! All passed through her mind in one dreadful 
whirl. She snatched up the money and rushed out with one 
thought of escape, and for some time after had a shuddering 
apprehension of being pursued and arrested. 

“ Oh, if I had only gone to Tiffany’s, where I am known ! ” 
she groaned. “ It’s all mother’s work. Her advice is always 
fatal, and I will never follow it again. It seems as if every- 
thing and everybody were against me,” and she plunged 
into the sheltering throng of Broadway, glad to be a mere 
unrecognized drop in its mighty tide. 

But even as Edith passed out of the jeweller’s store her 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 213 

eye rested for a moment on the face of a man whom she 
thought she had seen before, though she could not tell where, 
and the face haunted her, causing much uneasiness. 

Could he have seen and known me? ” she queried most 
anxiously. 

He had done both. He was no other than Tom Growl, 
a clerk in the village at one of the lesser dry-goods stores, 
where the Allens had a small account. He was one of the 
mean loafers who were present at the bar-room scene, and 
had cheered, and then kicked Gus Elliot, and '‘laid for 
him ” in the evening with the “ boys.” He was one of the 
upper graduates of Pushton street-corners, and having spent 
an idle vicious boyhood, truant half the time from school, 
had now arrived at the dignity of clerk in a store, that thrived 
feebly on the scattering trade that filtered through and past 
Mr. Hard’s larger establishment. He was one of the worst 
phases of the' male gossip, and had the scent of a buzzard 
for the carrion of scandal. The Allens were now the upper- 
most theme of the village, for there seemed some mystery 
about them. Moreover the rural dabblers in vice had a 
natural jealousy of the more accomplished rakes from the 
city, which took on something of the air of virtuous indigna- 
tion against them. Of course the talk about Gus and Van 
Dam included the Allens ; and if poor Edith could have 
heard the surmises about them in the select coterie of clerks 
that gathered after closing hours around Crowl, as the central 
fountain of gossip, she would have felt more bitterly than 
ever that the spirit of chivalry had utterly forsaken mankind. 

When therefore young Crowl saw Edith get on the same 
train as himself, he determined to watch her, and startle, if 
possible, his small squad of admirers a new proof of his 
right to lead as chief scandal-monger. The scene in the 
jewelry store thus became a brilliant stroke of fortune to 
him, though so severe a blow to Edith. (The number of 


1 


214 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


people who are like wolves, that turn upon and devour one 
of their kind when wounded, is not small.) Growl exult- 
ingly saw himself doubly the hero of the evening in the little 
room of the loft over the store, where poor Edith would be 
discussed that evening over a black bottle and sundry clay 
pipes. 

As Edith returned up town toward the depot, the impulse 
to go and see her old home was very strong. She thought 
her veil sufficient protection to allow her to venture. Slowly 
and with heavy step she passed up the well-known street on 
the opposite side, and then crossed and passed down toward 
that door from which she had so often tripped in light-hearted 
gayety, or rolled away in a liveried carriage, the envied and 
courted daughter of a millionnaire. And to-day she was self 
ing her jewelry for bread — to-day she had narrowly, as she 
thought, escaped the police court — to-day she had no other 
prospect of support save her unskilled hands, and little more 
than two short months ago, that house was ablaze with light, 
resounding with mirth and music, and she and her sisters 
were known as among the wealthiest belles of the city. It 
was like a horrid dream. It seemed as if she might see old 
Hannibal opening the door, and Zell come tripping out, or 
Laura at the window of her room with a book, or the portly 
form of her father returning from business, indeed even her- 
self, radiant with pride and pleasure, starting for an afternoon 
walk as of old. All seemed to look the same. Why was it 
not? Why could she not enter and be at home ! Again she 
passed. A name on the door caught her eye. With a shud- 
der of disgust and pain, she read, — 

“Uriah Fox.” 

“ So the villain lives in the home of which he robbed us,” 
she said bitterly. “The world seems made for such. Old 
Hannibal was right. God lumps the world, but the devil 
seems to look after his friends and prosper them.” 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 21$ 


She now hastened to the depot. The city had lost its 
attractions to her, in view of what she had seen and suffered 
that day, and though inclined to feel hard and resentful at 
her fate, she was sincerely thankful that she had a quiet 
home in the country from which at least the false-hearted 
and cruel could be kept away. 

She saw during the day several faces that she knew, but 
none recognized her, and she realized how soon we are for- 
gotten by our wide circle of friends, and how the world 
goes on just the same after we have vacated the large space 
we suppose we occupy. 

She reached home in the twilight, weary and despondent. 
Her mother asked eagerly, — 

“ Did you meet any one you knew?” as if this were the 
all-important question. 

‘‘ Don’t speak to me,” said Edith impatiently. “ I’m half 
dead with fatigue and trouble. Hannibal, please give me a 
cup of tea, and then I will go to bed.” 

But, Edith,” persisted Mrs. Allen querulously, “did you 
see any of our old set? I hope you didn’t take the jewelry 
where you were known.” 

Edith’s over-taxed nerves gave way, and she said 
sharply, — 

“ No, I did not go where I was known, as I ought, and 
therefore have been robbed, and might have been in jail 
myself to-night. I will never follow your advice again. It 
has brought nothing but trouble and disaster. I have had 
enough of your silly pride and its results. What practical 
harm would it have done me, if I had met all the persons 1 
know in the city? By going where I was not known I lost 
half my jewelry, and was insulted and threatened with great 
danger in the bargain. If I had gone to Tiffany’s, or Ball 
and Black’s, where I am known, I should have been treated 
^.olitely and obtained the full value of what I offered. I 


2i6 


WHA T CAJV SHE DO ? 


can’t even forgive myself for being such a fool. But I have 
done with your ridiculous false pride forever.” 

These were harsh words for a daughter to speak to her 
mother, under any provocation, and even Zell said, — 

‘‘ Edith, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak to 
mother so.” 

‘‘ I think so too,” said Laura, ‘‘ I’m sure she meant every- 
thing for the best, and she took the course which is taken 
by the majority in like circumstances.” 

“ All the worse for the majority then, if they fare anything 
as we have done. The division of labor in this family 
^eems to be that I am to do all the vvork, and bear the 
brunt of everything, and the rest sit by and criticise, or 
make more trouble. You have all got to do something now 
or go hungry,” and Edith swallowed her tea, and went 
frowningly away to her room. She was no saint, to begin 
with, and her over-taxed mind and body revenged them- 
selves in nervous irritation. But her young and healthful 
nature soon found in sound sleep the needed restorative. 

Mrs. Allen shed a few helpless tears, and Laura wearily 
watched the faint flicker on the hearth, for the night was 
chilly. Zell went into the dining-room and read for the 
twentieth time a letter received that day. 

Unknown to Edith, the worst disaster yet had occurred in 
her absence. Zell had been to the village for the mail. She 
would not admit, even to herself, that she hoped for a letter 
from one who had acted so poor a part as her false lover, 
and yet, controlled so much more by her feelings and im- 
pulses than by either reason or principle, it was with a thrill 
of joy that she recognized the familiar handwriting. The next 
moment she dropped her veil to conceal her burning blush 
of shame. She hastened home with a wild tumult at heart. 

“ I will read it, and see what he says for himself,” she said, 
“and then will write a withering answer.” 


•3 


.THE CHANGES OE TWO SHOE T MONTHS. 21 y 

But as Van Dam’s ardent words and plausible excuses 
burned themselves into her memory, her weak foolish heart 
relented, and she half believed he was wronged by Edith 
after all. The withering answer became a queer jumble of 
tender reproaches and pathetic appeals, and ended by saying 
that if he would marry her in her own home it all might be 
as secret as he desired, and she would wait his convenience 
for acknowledgment. 

She also did another wrong and imprudent thing ; for she 
told him to direct his reply to another office about a mile 
from Pushton, for she dreaded Edith’s anger should her 
correspondence be discovered. 

The wily, unscrupulous man gave one of his satanic leers 
as he read the letter. 

“ The game will soon be mine,” he chuckled, and he wrote 
promptly in return. 

“In your request and reproaches, I see the influence of another 
mind. Left to yourself you would not doubt me. And yet such is 
my love for you, I would comply with your request were it not for 
what passed that fatal evening. My feelings and honor as a man for- 
bid my ever meeting your sister again till she has apologized. She 
never liked me, and always wronged me with doubts. Elliot acted 
like a fool and a villain, and I have nothing more to do with him. But 
your sister, in her anger and excitement, classed me with him. When 
you have been my loved and trusted wife for some length of time, I 
hope your family will do me justice. When you are here with me you 
will soon see w'hy our marriage must be private for the present. You 
have known me since you were a child. I will be true to my word 
and will do exactly as I agreed. I will meet you any evening you 
wish on the down boat. Awaiting your reply with an anxiety which 
only the deepest love can inspire, I remain 

“ Your slave, 

“GUILLIAM VAN DAM.” 

Such was the false, but plausible missive that was aimed 
as an arrow at poor little Zell. There was nothing in her 
training or education, and little in her character, to shield 


2i8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO f 


her. Moreover the increasing miseries of their situation were 
Van Dam’s allies. 

Edith rose the next morning greatly refreshed, and her 
naturally courageous nature rallied to meet the difficulties 
of their position. But in her strength, as was too often the 
case, she made too little allowance for the weakness of the 
others. She took the reins in her hand in a masterful and 
not merciful way, and dictated to the rest in a manner that 
they secretly resented. 

The store wagon was a little earlier than usual that morn- 
ing, and a note from Mr. Hard was handed in, stating that 
he had payments to make that day and would therefore re- 
quest that his little account might be met. Two or three 
other persons brought up bills from the village, saying that 
for some reason or another the money was greatly needed. 
Tom Growl’s gossip was doing its legitimate work. 

In the post-office Edith found all the other accounts against 
the family, with requests for payment, polite enough, but 
pressing. 

She resolved to pay all she could, and went first to Mr. 
Hard’s. That worthy citizen’s eyes grew less stony as he 
saw half the amount of his bill on the counter. The rumor 
of Edith’s visit to the city had reached even him, and he had 
his fears that collecting might involve some unpleasant busi- 
ness ; but, however unpleasant it might be, Mr. Hard always 
collected. 

I hope our method of dealing has satisfied you, Miss 
Allen,” he ventured politely. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Edith dryly, you have been very liberal 
and prompt with everything, especially your bill.” 

At this Mr. Hard’s eyes grew quite pebbly, and he mut- 
tered something about its being the rule to settle monthly. 

“ Oh, certainly,” said Edith, “ and like most rules, no 
doubt, has many exceptions. Good morning.” 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 2ig. 

She also paid something on the other bills, and found that 
she had but a few dollars left. Though there was a certain 
sense of relief in the feeling that she now owed much less, 
still she looked with dismay on the small sum remaining. 
Where was more to come from ? She had determined that 
she would not go to New York again to sell anything except 
in the direst extremity. 

That evening Hannibal gave them a meagre supper, for 
Edith had told him of the absolute necessity of economy. 
There was a little grumbling over the fare. So Edith pushed 
her chair back, laid seven dollars on the table, saying, — 

“ That’s all the money I have in the world. Who’s got 
any more? ” 

They raised ten dollars among them. 

“ Now,” said Edith, “ this is all we have. Where is more 
coming from ? ” 

Helpless sighs and silence were her only answers. 

“ There is nothing clearer in the world,” continued Edith,, 
“ than that we must earn money. What can we do? ” 

“ I never thought I should have to work,” said Laura 
piteously. 

“ But, my dear sister,” said Edith earnestly, “ isn’t it clear 
to you now that you must? You certainly don’t expect 
me to earn enough to support you all. One pair of hands 
can’t do it, and it wouldn’t be fair in the bargain.” 

“ Oh, certainly not,” said Laura. “ I will do anything you 
say as well as I can, though, for the life of me, I don’t see 
what I can do.” 

“ Nor I either,” said Zell passionately. “ I don’t know 
how to work. I never did anything useful in my life that I 
know of. What right have parents to bring up girls in this 
way, unless they make it a perfect certainty that they will 
always be rich ? Here we are as helpless as four children. 
We have not got enough to keep us from star\’ing more than 


220 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


a week at best. Just to think of it ! Men are speculating 
and risking all they have every day. Ever since I was a 
child I have heard about the risks of business. I knew 
some people whose fathers failed, and they went away, I 
don’t know where, to suffer as we have perhaps, and yet girls 
are not taught to do a single thing by which they can earn a 
penny if they need to. If anybody will pay me for jabber- 
ing a little bad French and Italian, and strumming a few 
operatic airs on the piano, I am at their service. I think I 
also understand dressing, flirting, and receiving compliments 
very well. I had a taste for these things, and never had 
any special motive given me for doing anything else. What 
becomes of all the girls thus taught to be helpless, and then 
tossed out into the world to sink or swim? ” 

“ They find some self-sustaining work in it,” said Edith. 

“ Not all of them, I guess,” muttered Zell sullenly. 

‘‘Then they do worse, and had better starve,” said Edith 
sternly. 

“ You don’t know anything about starving,” retorted Zell, 
bitterly. “ I repeat, it’s a burning shame to bring girls up 
so that they don’t know how to do anything, if there’s ever 
any possibility that they must. And it’s a worse, shame that 
respect and encouragement are not given to girls who earn 
a living. Mother says that if we become working girls, not 
one of our old wealthy, fashionable set will have anything to 
do with us. What makes people act so silly? Any one of 
them on the avenue may be where we are in a year. I’ve 
no patience with the ways of the world. People don’t help 
each other to be good, and don’t help others up. Grown-up 
folks act like children. How parents can look forward to 
the barest chance of their children being poor, and bring 
them up as we were, I don’t see. I’m no more fit to be 
poor, than to be President.” 

Zell never before had said a word that reflected on her 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 221 


father, but in the light of events her criticism seemed so 
just that no one reproved her. 

Mrs. Allen only sighed over her part of the implied blame. 
She had reached the hopeless stage of one lost in a foreign 
land, where the language is unknown and every sight and 
sound unfamiliar and bewildering. This weak fashionable 
woman, the costly product of an artificial luxurious life, 
seemed capable of being little better than a millstone 
around the necks of her children in this hour of their 
need. If there had been some innate strength and nobility 
in Mrs. Allen’s character, it might have developed now into 
something worthy of respect under this sharp attrition of 
trouble, however perverted before. But where a precious 
stone will take lustre a pumice stone will crumble. There 
is a multitude of natures so weak to begin with that they 
need tonic treatment all through life. What must such 
become under the influence of enervating luxury, flattery, 
and uncurbed selfishness from childhood ? Poor, faded, 
sighing, helpless Mrs. Allen, shivering before the trouble she 
had largely occasioned, is the answer. 

Edith soon broke the forlorn silence that followed Zell’s 
outburst by saying, — 

“ All the blame doesn’t rest on the parents. I might have 
improved my advantages far better. I might have so mas- 
tered the mere rudiments of an English education as to be 
able to teach little children, but I can scarcely remember a 
single thing now.” 

“ I can remember one thing,” interrupted Zell, who was 
fresh from her books, that there was mighty little atten- 
tion given to the rudiments, as you call them, in the fash- 
ionable schools to which I went. To give the outward airs 
and graces of a fine lady seemed their whole aim. Accom- 
plishments, deportment were everything. The way I was 
hustled over the rudiments almost takes away my breath to 


222 


WffA T CAN SHE DO ? 


remember, and I have as remote an idea of vulgar fractions 
as of how to do the vulgar work before us. I tell you the 
whole thing is a cruel farce. If girls are educated like 
butterflies, it ought to be made certain that they can live 
like butterflies.” 

‘^Well, then,” continued Edith, ‘^we ought to have per- 
fected ourselves in some accomplishment. They are always 
in demand. See what some French and music teachers 
obtain.” 

“Nonsense,” said Zell pettishly, “you know well enough 
that by the time we were sixteen our heads were so full of 
beaux, parties, and dress, that French and music were a 
bore. We went through the fashionable mills like the rest, 
and if father had continued worth a million or so, no one 
would have found fault with our education.” 

“We can’t help the past now,” said Edith after a 
moment, “ but I am not so old yet but that I can choose 
some kind of work and so thoroughly master it that I can 
get the highest price paid for that form of labor. I wish it 
could be gardening, for I have no taste for the shut-up work 
of woman ;«sitting in a close room all day with a needle 
would be slow suicide to me.” 

“ Gardening ! ” said Zell contemptuously. “You couldn’t 
plough as well as that snuffy old fellow who scratched your 
garden about as deeply as a hen would have done it. A 

woman can’t dig and hoe in the hot sun, that is, an 

American girl can’t, and I don’t think she ought.” 

“Nor I either,” said Mrs. Allen, with some returning 
vitality. “The very idea is horrid.” 

“ But ploughing, digging, and hoeing are not all of 

gardening,” said Edith with some irritation. 

“ I guess you would make a slim support by just snipping 
around among the jose-bushes,” retorted Zell provokingly. 

“That’s always the way with you, Zell,” said Edith 


THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS. 223 


sharply, “ from one extreme to another. Well, what would 
you like to do? ” 

“ If I had to work I would like housekeeping. That 
admits of great variety and activity. I wish I could open a 
summer boarding-house up here. Wouldn’t I make it 
attractiv^e ! ” 

“ Such black eyes and red cheeks certainly would — to 
the gentlemen,” answered Edith satirically. 

“ They would be mere accessories. I think I could give 
to a boarding-house, that place of hash and harrowing dis- 
comfort, a dainty, homelike air. If father, when he risked 
a failure, had only put aside enough to set me up in a 
boarding-house, I should have been made.” 

“4 boarding-house! What horror next?” sighed Mrs. 
Allen. 

“Don’t be alarmed, mother,” said Zell bitterly. “We 
can scarcely start one of the forlornest hash species on ten 
dollars. I admit I would rather keep house for a good 
husband, and it seems to me I could soon learn to give him 
the perfection of a good home,” and her eyes filled with 
wistful tears. Dashing them scornfully away, she added, 
“ The idea of a woman loving a man, and letting his home 
be dependent on the cruel mercies of foreign servants 1 If 
it’s a shame that girls are not taught to make a living if they 
need to, it’s a worse shame that they are not taught to keep 
house. Half the brides I know of ought to have been 
arrested and imprisoned for obtaining property on false 
pretences. They had inveigled men into the vain expecta- 
tion that they would make a home for them, when they 
no more knew how to make a home than a heaven. The 
best they can do is to go to one of those places so satirically 
called an ' intelligence office,’ and import into their elegant 
houses a small mob of quarrelsome, drunken, dishonest 
foreigners, and then they and their husbands live on such 


224 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


conditions as are permitted. I would be mistress of my 
house, just as a man is master of his store or office, and I 
would know thoroughly how work of all kinds was done, 
and see that it was done thoroughly. If they wouldn’t do 
it, I’d discharge them. I am satisfied that our bad servants 
are the result of bad housekeepers more than anything else.” 

“ Poor little Zell ! ” said Edith, smiling sadly. “ I hope 
you will have a chance to put your theories into most happy 
and successful practice.” 

“ Little chance of it here in ‘ Bushtown,’ as Hannibal calls 
it,” said Zell sullenly. 

“ Well,” said Edith, in a kind of desperate tone, we’ve 
got to decide on something at once. I will suggest this. 
Laura must take care of mother, and teach a few little , chil- 
dren if she can get them. We will give up the parlor to her ' 
at certain hours. I will put up a notice in the post-office 
asking for such patronage, and perhaps we can put an adver- 
tisement in the Pushton Recorder, if it doesn’t cost too 
much. Zell, you must take the housekeeping mainly, for 
which you have a taste, and help me with any sewing that I 
can get. Hannibal will go into the garden and I will help 
him there all I can. I shall go to the village to-morrow and 
see if I can find anything to do that will bring in money.” 

There was a silent acquiescence in Edith’s plan, for no 
one had anything else to offer. 


IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK. 


225 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK. 

T he next day Edith went to the village, and frankly told 
Mr. Hard how they were situated, mentioning that the 
failure of their lawyer to sell the stock had suddenly 
placed them in this crippled condition. 

Mr. Hard’s eyes grew more pebbly as he listened. He 
ventured in a constrained voice as consolation, — 

“That he never had much faith in stocks — No, he had 
no employment for ladies in connection with his store. He 
simply bought and sold at a sjnall advance. Miss Klip, the 
dressmaker, might have something.” 

To Miss Klip Edith went. Miss Klip, although an unpro- 
tected female, appeared to be a maiden that could take 
care of herself. One would scarcely venture to hinder her. 
Her cutting scissors seemed instinct with life, and one 
would get out of their way as naturally as from a railroad 
train. She gave Edith a sharp look through her spectacles 
and said abruptly in answer to her application, — 

“ I thought you was rich.” 

“ We were,” said Edith sadly, “ but we must work now 
and are willing to.” 

‘‘What do you know about dressmaking and sewing?” 

“ Well, not a great deal, but I think you would find us 
very ready to learn.” 

“ Oh, bless you, I can get all my work done by thorough 
hands, and at my own prices, too. Good morning.” 


226 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ But can you not tell me of some one who would be apt 
to have work? ” 

“ There’s Mrs. Glibe across the street. She has work 
sometimes. Most of the dressmakers around here are well 
trained, have machines, and go out by the day.” 

Edith’s heart sank. What chance was there for her un- 
taught hands among all these “ trained workers.” 

She soon found that Mrs. Glibe was more inclined to talk, 
(being as garrulous as Miss Klip was aconic,) and to find 
out all about them, than to help her to work. Making but 
little headway in Edith’s confidence she at last said, “ I give 
Rose Lacey all the work I have to spare and it isn’t very 
much. The business is so cut up that none of us have much 
more than we can do except a short time in the busy season. 
Still, those of us who can give a nice fit and cut to advan- 
tage can make a good living after getting known. It takes 
time and training you know of course.” 

“ But isn’t there work of any kind that we can get in this 
place?” said Edith impatiently. 

“ Well, not that you’d be willing to do. Of course there’s 
housecleaning and washing and some plain sewing, though 
that is mostly done on a machine. A good strong woman 
can always get day’s work, except in winter, but you ain’t 
one of that sort,” she added, looking at Edith’s delicate pink 
and White complexion and little white hands in which a 
scrubbing-brush would look incongruous. 

“ Isn’t there any demand for fancy work?” asked Edith. 

“ Mighty little. People buy such things in the city. 
Money ain’t so plenty in the country that people will spend 
much on that kind of thing. The ladies themselves make 
it at home and when they go out to tea.” 

“Oh, dear ! ” sighed Edith, as she plodded wearily home- 
ward, “what can we do? Ignorance is as bad as crime.” 

Her main hope now for immediate necessities was that 


IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK. 


227 


they might get some scholars. She had put up a notice in 
the post-office and an advertisement in the paper. She had 
also purchased some rudimentary school books, and the poor 
child, on her return home, soon distracted herself by a sud- 
den plunge into vulgar fractions. She found herself so sadly 
rusty that she would have to study almost as hard as any 
of her pupils, were they obtained. Laura’s bookish turn 
and better memory had kept her better informed. Edith 
soon threw aside grammars and arithmetics, saying to 
Laura, — 

“You must take care of the school, if we get one. It 
would take me too long to prepare on these things in our 
emergency.” 

Almost desperate from the feeling that there was nothing 
she could do, she took a hoe that was by no means light, 
and loosened the ground and cut off all the sprouting weeds 
around her strawberry-vines. The day was rather cool and 
cloudy, and she was surprised at the space she went over. 
She wore her broad- rimmed straw hat tied down over her 
face, and determined she would not look at the road, and 
would act as if it were not there, letting people think what 
they pleased. But a familiar rumble and rattle caused her 
to look shyly up after the wagon had passed, and she saw 
Arden Lacey gazing wonderingly back at her. She dropped 
her eyes instantly as if she had not seen him, and went on 
with her work. At last, thoroughly wearied, she went in 
and said half triumphantly, half defiantly, — 

“A woman can hoe. I’ve done it myself.” 

“A woman can ride a horse like a man,” said Mrs. Allen, 
«nd, this was all the home encouragement poor Edith re- 
ceived. 

They had had but a light lunch at one o’clock, meaning 
to have a more substantial dinner at six. Hannibal was 
showing Zell and getting her started in her department. It 


228 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


was but a poor little dinner they had, and Zell said in place 
of dessert, — 

“ Edith, we are most out of everything.” 

‘‘ And I can’t get any work,” said Edith despondingly. 

People have got to know how to do things before anybody 
wants them, and we haven’t time to learn.” 

“ Ten dollars won’t last long,” said Zell recklessly. 

“ I will go down to the village and make further inquiries 
to-morrow,” Edith continued in a weary tone. “ It seems 
strange how people stand aloof from us. No one calls and 
everybody wants what we owe them right away. Are there 
not any good kind people in Pushton ? I wish we had not 
offended the Laceys. They might have advised and helped 
us, but nothing would tempt me to go to them after treating 
them as we did.” 

There were plenty of good kind people in Pushton, but 
Mrs. Allen’s policy” had driven them away as far as pos- 
sible. By their course the Allens had placed themselves, in 
relation to all classes, in the most unapproachable position, 
and their “ friends ” from the city and Tom Growl’s gossip 
had made matters far worse. Poor Edith thought they were 
utterly ignored. She would have felt worse if she had known 
that every one was talking about them. 

The next day Edith started on another unsuccessful expe- 
dition to the village, and while she was gone, Zell went to the 
post-office to which she had told Van Dam to direct his 
reply. She found the plausible lie we have already placed 
before the reader. 

At first she experienced a sensation of anger that he had 
not complied with her wish. It was a new experience to 
have gentlemen, especially Van Dam, so long her obsequious 
slave, think of anything contrary to her wishes. She also 
feared that Edith might be right, and that V an Dam designed 
evil against her. She would not openly admft, even to her- 


IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK. 229 

self, that this was his purpose, and yet Edith’s words had 
been so clear and strong, and Van Dam’s conditions placed 
her so entirely at his mercy, that she shrank from him and 
was fascinated at the same time. 

But instead of indignantly casting the letter from her, she 
read it again and again. Her foolish heart pleaded for him. 

“ He couldn’t be so false to me, so false to his written 
word,” she said, and the letter was hidden away, and she 
passed into the dangerous stage of irresolution, where temp- 
tation is secretly dwelt upon. She hesitated, and, according 
to the proverb, the woman who does this is lost. Instead 
of indignantly casting temptation from her, she left her 
course open, to be decided somewhat by circumstances. 
She wilfully shut her eyes to the danger, and tried to believe, 
and did almost believe that her lover meant honestly by her. 

And so the days passed, Edith vainly trying to find some- 
thing to do, and working hard in her garden, which as yet 
brought no return. She was often very sad and despondent, 
and again very irritable. Laura’s apathy only deepened, and 
she seemed like one not yet awakened from a dream of the 
past. Zell made some show of work, but after all left 
almost everything for Hannibal as before, and when Edith 
sharply chided her, she laughed recklessly and said, — 

“ What’s the use ? If we are going to starve we might as 
well do so at once and have it over with.” 

“ I won’t starve,” said Edith, almost fiercely. There 
must be honest work somewhere in the world for one willing 
to do it, and I’m going to find it. At any rate, I can raise 
food in my garden before long.” 

“I’m afraid we shall starve before your cabbages and 
carrots come to maturity, and we might as well as to try to 
live on such garbage. Supplies are running low, and, as you 
say, the money is nearly gone.” 

“ Yes, and people won’t trust us any more. Two or three 


230 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


declined to in the village to-day, and I felt too discouraged 
and ashamed to ask any further. For some reason people 
seem afraid of us. I see persons turn and look after me, 
and yet they avoid me. Two or three impudent clerks 
tried to make my acquaintance, but I snubbed them in 
such a way that they will let me alone hereafter. I wonder 
if any stories could have got around about us? Country 
towns are such places for gossip.” 

“ Have you heard of any scholars? ” said Laura languidly. 

“ No, not one,” was Edith’s despondent answer. “ If 
nothing turns up before. Til go to New York next Monday 
and sell some more things, and I’ll go where I’m known this 
time.” 

Nothing turned up, and by Sunday they had nothing in 
the house save a little dry bread, which they ate moistened 
with wine and water. Mrs. x^llen sighed and cried all day. 
Laura had the strange manner of one awaking up to some- 
thing unrealized before. Restlessness began to take the 
place of apathy, and her eyes often sought the face of Edith 
in a questioning manner. Finding her alone in the garden, 
she said, — 

“Why, Edith, I’m hungry. I never remember being 
hungry before. Is it possible we have come to this?” 

Edith burst into tears, and said brokenly, — 

“ Come with me to the arbor.” 

“I’m sure I’m willing to do anything,” said Laura pite- 
ously, “ but I never realized we would come to this.” 

“Oh! how can the birds sing?” said Edith bitterly. 
“This beautiful spring weather, with its promise and hope- 
fulness, seems a mockery. The sun is shining brightly, 
flowers are budding and blooming, and all the world seems 
so happy, but my heart aches as if it would burst. I’m 
hungry, too, and I know poor old Hannibal is faint, though 
he tries to keep up whenever I am around.” 


JGNORAA^CE LOOKING FOR IVORK, 


“But, Edith, if people knew how we are situated they 
would not let us want. Our old acquaintances in New York, 
or our relations even, though not very friendly, would surely 
help us.” 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose so for a little while, but I can’t bring 
myself to ask for charity, and no one would undertake to 
support us. What discourages me most is that I can’t get 
work that will bring in money. Between people wishing to 
have nothing to do with us, on one hand, and my ignorance 
on the e ther, there seems no resource. Some of those whom 
we owe :^eem inclined to press us. I’m so afraid of losing 
this place and being out on the street. If I could only get 
a chance somewhere, or get time to learn to do something 
well ! ” 

Then after a moment she asked suddenly, “ Where’s Zell? ” 

“ In her room, I think.” 

“ I don’t like Zell’s manner,” said Edith, after a brief pain- 
ful reverie. “ It’s so hard and reckless. Something seems 
to be on her mind. She has long fits of abstraction as if 
she were thinking of something, or weighing some plan. 
Could she have had any communication with that villain 
Van Dam ? Oh ! that would be the bitterest drop of all in 
our cup of sorrow. I would rather see her dead than that.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” said Laura, “ it seems as if I had been in a 
trance and had just awakened. Why Edith, I must do some- 
thing, It is not right to let you bear all these things alone* 
But don’t trouble about Zell, not one of George Allen’# 
daughters will sink to that.” 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


232 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A FALLING STAR. 

Z ELL slept most of the day. She had reached that point 
where she did not want to think. On hearing Edith say 
that she would go to New York on Monday, a sudden and 
strong temptation assailed ner. Impulsive, but not courage- 
ous, abounding in energy, but having little fortitude, she 
found the conditions of her country life growing unendur- 
able. Van Dam seemed her only refuge, her only means of 
escape. She soon lost all hope of their sustaining themselves 
by work in Pushton. Her uncurbed nature could wait j 

patiently for nothing, and as the long, idle days passed, she } 

doubted, and then despaired, of any success from Edith’s 
plans. She harbored Van Dam’s temptation, and the con- j 
sciousness of doing this hurt her womanly nature, and her 
hard, reckless tone and manner were the natural consequence. 

She said to herself, and tried to believe, — ’ 

“ He will marry me — he has promised again and again.” ? 

Still, there was the uneasy knowledge that she was placing \ 

herself and her reputation entirely at his mercy, and she long > 
had known that Van Dam was no saint. It was this lurking 
knowledge, shut her eyes to it as she might, that acted on 
her nature like a petrifying influence. 

And yet. Van Dam’s temptation had more to contend with 
in her pride than in her moral nature. Everything in her 
education had tended to increase the former, and dwarf the 
latter. Her parents had taken her to the theatre far oftener 


A FALLING STAR. 


233 


than even to the fashionable church on the avenue. From 
the latter she carried away more ideas about dress than about 
anything else. From a child she had been familiar with the 
French school of morals, as taught by the sensational drama 
in New York. Society, that will turn a poor girl out of doors 
the moment she sins, will take her at the most critical age of 
her unformed character, night after night, to witness plays 
in which the husband is made ridiculous, but the man who 
destroys purity and home-happiness is as splendid a villain 
as Milton’s Satan. Mr. Allen himself had familiarized Zell’s 
mind with just what she was tempted to do, by taking her 
to plays as poisonous to the soul as the malaria of the Cam- 
pagna at Rome to the body. He, though dead, had a part 
in the present temptation of his child, and we unhesitatingly 
charge many parents with the absolute ruin of their children, 
by exposing them, and permitting them to be exposed, to 
influences that they know must be fatal. No guardian of a 
child can plead the densest stupidity for not knowing that 
French novels and plays are as demoralizing as the devil 
could wish them to be ; and constantly to place young pas- 
sionate natures, just awakening in their uncurbed strength, 
under such influences, and expect them to remain as spot- 
less as snow, is the most wretched absurdity of our day. 
Society brings fire to the tow, the brand to the powder, 
and then lifts its hand to hurl its anathema in case they 
ignite. 

But Mr. Allen sinned even more grievously in permitting 
a man like Van Dam to haunt his home. If now one of the 
lambs of his flock suffered irretrievably, he would be as 
much to blame as a shepherd who daily saw the wolf within 
his fold. Mr. Allen was familiar with the stories about V an 
Dam, as multitudes of wealthy men are to-day with the 
character of well-dressed scoundrels who visit their daugh- 
ters. Some of the worst villains in existence have the entree 


234 


IV 1/ A T CAN SHE DO? 


into the best society.” It is pretty well known among 
men what they are, and fashionable mammas are not wholly 
in the dark. Therefore, every day, angels that kept not 
their first estate ” are falling from heaven. It may not be 
the open, disgraceful ruin that threatened poor Zell, but it is 
aiii nevertheless. 

After all, it was the undermining, unhallowed influence of 
long association with Van Dam that now made Zell so weak 
in her first sharp stress of temptation. Crime was not awful 
and repulsive to her. There was little in her cunningly- 
perverted nature that revolted at it. She hesitated mainly 
on the ground of her pride, and in view of the consequences. 
And even these latter she in no sense realized, for the school 
in which she had been taught showed only the flowery 
opening of the path into sin, while its terrible retributions 
were kept hidden. 

Therefore, as the miseries of her condition in the country 
increased, Zell’s pride failed her, and she began to be will- 
ing to risk all to get away, and when she felt the pinch of 
hunger she became almost desperate. As we have said, on 
Edith’s naming a day on which she would be absent on the 
forlorn mission that would only put off the day of utter want 
a little longer, the temptation took definite shape in Zell’s 
mind to write at once to Van Dam, acceding to his shame- 
ful conditions. 

But, to satisfy her conscience, which she could not stifle, 
and to provide some excuse for her action, and still more, 
to brace the hope she tried to cherish that he really meant 
truly by her, she wrote, — 

“ If I will meet you at the boat Monday evening, will you 
surely marry me? Promise me on your sacred honor.” 

Van J'iam muttered, with a low laugh, as he read the 
note, — 

That’s a rich joke, for her to accept such a proposition 


A FALLmC STAR. 235 

as mine, especially after all that has happened, and still prate 
of ‘ sacred honor.’ ” 

But he unhesitatingly, promptly, and with many protesta- 
tions assured her that he would, and at once prepared to 
carry out his part of the programme. 

What’s the use of half-way lies?” he said, carelessly. 

On Monday Edith again took the early train with the 
valuables of which she designed to dispose. Zell had said 
indifferently, — 

“ You may take anything I have left except my watch and 
chain.” 

But Laura had insisted on sending her watch, saying, “ I 
really wish to do something, Edith. I’ve left all the burden 
on you too long.” 

Mrs. Allen sighed, and said, Take anything you please.”' 

So Edith carried away with her the means of fighting the 
wolf, hunger, from their doors a little longer. But if she had 
known that a more cruel enemy would despoil her home in 
her absence, she would have rather starved than gone. 

Laura was reading to her mother when Zell put her head 
in at the door, saying, — 

“ I am going for a short walk, and will be back soon.” 

She hastened to the office at which she had told Van Dam 
to address her, and found his reply. With feverish cheeks, 
and eyes in which glowed excitement rather than happiness, 
she read it as soon as she was alone on the road, and re- 
turned as quickly as possible. Her mind was in a wild 
tumult, but she would not allow herself one rational thought. 
She spent most of the day in her room preparing for her 
flight. But when she came down to see Hannibal about 
their meagre lunch, he said in some surprise and alarm, — 

“ O Miss Zell, how burnin’ red your cheeks be ! You’se 
got a ragin’ feber, sure ’nuff. Go and lie right straight down, 
and I’se see to eberyting. Fse been to de willage and got 


236 


IVHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


some tea. A man guv it to me as a sample, and I telled 
him we’se like our tea mighty strong, so you’se all hab a cup 
of tea to-day, and to-night Miss Edie’ll come back wid a 
heap of money.” 

“ Poor old Hannibal 1 ” said Zell, with a sudden rush of 
tenderness. “I wish I were as good as you are.” 

“ Lor bress you, Miss Zell, I isn’t good. I’se kind of a 
heathen. But somehow I feels dat de Lord will bress me 
when I steals for you alls.” 

“ O Hannibal, I wish I was dead and out of the way ! 
Then there would be one less to provide for.” 

“ Dead and out of de way ! ” said Hannibal, half indig- 
nantly ; ‘‘ dat’s jest how to get into de way. I’d be afeard 
of seein’ your spook whenever I was alone. I had no com- 
fort in New York arter Massa Allen died, and was mighty 
glad to get away even to Bushtown. And den Miss Edie 
and all would cry dar eyes out, and couldn’t do nothin’. 
Folks is often more in de way arter dey’s dead and gone dan 
when livin’. Seein’ your sweet face around ebery day, honey, 
is a great help to ole Hannibal. It seems only yesterday it 
was a little baby face, and we was all pretty nigh crazy over 
you.” 

‘‘ I wish I had died then ! ” said Zell, passionately, and 
hurrying away. 

“ Poor chile, poor chile ! she takes it mighty hard,” said 
innocent Hannibal. 

She kept her room during the afternoon, pleading that she 
did not feel well. It gave her pain to be with her mother 
and Laura, now that she purposed to leave them so abruptly, 
and she wished to see nothing that would shake her resolu- 
tion to go as she had arranged. She wrote to Edith as 
follows : — 

“ I am going, Edith, to meet Mr. V^n Dam, as he told me. I 
not — I will not believe that he will prove false to me. I leave his 


4 FALLIA^G STAR. 


2Z7 


letter, which I received to-day. Perhaps you never will forgive me at 
home ; but whatever becomes of poor little Zell, she will not cease to 
love you all. I should only be a burden if I stayed. There will be 
one less to provide for, and I may be able to help you far more by 
going than staying. Don’t follow me. I’ve made my venture, and 
chosen my lot ZELL.” 

As the long twilight was deepening, Hannibal, returning 
from the well with a pail of water, heard the gate-latch click, 
and, looking up, saw Zell hurrying out with hat and shawl 
on, and having the appearance of carrying something under 
her shawl. He felt a little surprise at first, but then Zell was 
so full of impulse, that he concluded, — 

“ She’s gwdne to meet Miss Edie. We’se all a lookin’ and 
loanin’ on Miss Edie, Lor bress her.” 

But Zell was going to perdition. 

Little later the stage brought tired Edith home, but 
in better spirits than before, as she had realized a some- 
what fair sum for what she had sold, and had been treated 
politely. 

After taking off her things, she asked, “Where’s Zell? ” 

“ Lying down, I think,” said Laura. “ She complained of 
not feeling well this afternoon.” 

But Hannibal’s anxious face in the door now caught her 
attention, and she joined him at once. 

“ Didn’t you meet Miss Zell? ” he asked in a whisper. 

“Meet her? No,” answered Edith, excitedly. 

“ Dat’s quare. She went out with hat and shawl on a 
little while ago. P’raps she’s come back, and gone upstairs 
again.” 

Trembling so she could hardly walk steadily, Edith hur- 
ried to her room, and there saw Zell’s note. Tearing it open, 
she only read the first line, and then rushed down to her 
mother and Laura, sobbing, — 

“ Zell’s gone.” 


238 


WHA T CAAT SHE DO ? 


Gone ! Where ? ” they said, with dismayed faces. 

Edith’s only reply was to look suddenly at her watch, put 
on her hat, and dart out of the door. She saw that there 
were still ten minutes before the evening boat passed the 
Pushton landing, and remembered that it was sometimes 
delayed. There was a shorter road to the dock than the 
one through the village, and this she took, with flying feet, 
and a white but determined face. It would have been a 
terrible thing for Van Dam to have met her then. She 
seemed sustained by supernatural strength, and, walking and 
running by turns, made the mile and a half in an incredibly 
short space of time. As she reached the top of the hill 
above the landing, she saw the boat coming in to the dock. 
Though panting and almost spent, again she ran at the top 
of her speed. Half-way down she heard the plank ring out 
upon the wharf. 

Stop ! ” she called. But her parched lips uttered only a 
faint sound, like the cry of one in a dream. 

A moment later, as she struggled desperately forward, 
there came, like the knell of hope, the command, — 

‘‘ All aboard ! ” 

Oh, wait, wait ! ” she again tried to call, but her tongue 
seemed paralyzed. 

As she reached the commencement of the long dock, she 
saw the lines cast off. The great wheels gave a vigorous 
revolution, and the boat swept away. 

She was too late. She staggered forward a few steps 
more, and then all her remaining strength went into one 
agonized cry, — 

‘‘Zell!” 

And she fell fainting on the dock. 

Zell heard that cry, and recognized the voice. Taking 
her hand from Mr. Van Dam’s arm, she covered bet face in 
sudden remorseful weeping. 


A FALLING STAR. 


239 


But it was too late. 

She had left the shelter of home, and ventured out into 
the great pitiless world on nothing better than Van Dam’s 
word. It was like walking a rotten plank out into the sea. 
Ml was lost 1 


240 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XX. 

DESOLATION. 

N ot only did Edith’s bitter cry startle poor Zell, coming 
to her ear as a despairing recall from the battlements 
of heaven might have sounded to a falling angel, but Arden 
Lacey was as thoroughly aroused from his painful revery as 
if shaken by a giant hand. He had been down to meet 
the boat, with many others, and was sending off some little 
produce from their place. He had not noticed in the dusk 
the closely-veiled lady; indeed, he rarely noticed anyone 
unless they spoke to him, and then gave but brief, surly^ 
attention. Only one had scanned Zell curiously, and that 
was Tom Growl. With his quick eye for something wrong 
in human action, he was attracted by Zell’s manner. He 
could not make out through her thick veil who she was, in 
the increasing darkness, but he saw that she was agitated, 
and that she looked eagerly for the coming of the boat, also 
landward, where the road came out on the dock, as if fear- 
ing or expecting something from that quarter. But when 
he saw her join Van Dam, he recognized his old bar-room 
acquaintance, and surmised that the lady was one of the 
Allen family. Possessing these links in the chain, he was 
ready for the next. Edith’s presence and cry supplied this, 
and he chuckled exultantly, — 

An elopement ! ” and ran in the direction of the sound. 
But Arden was already at Edith’s side, having reached her ^ 
almost at a bound, and was gently lifting the unconscious ^ 


DESOL A TION. 


241 


girl, and regarding her with a tenderness only equalled by 
his helplessness and perplexity in not knowing what to do 
with her. 

The ' first impulse of his great strength was to carry her 
directly to her home. But Edith was anything but ethereal, 
and long before he could have passed the mile and a half, 
he would have fainted under the burden, even though love 
nerved his arms. But while he stood in piteous irresolu- 
tion, there- came out from the crowd that had gathered 
round, a stout, middle-aged woman, who said, in a voice 
that not only betokened the utmost confidence in herself, 
but also the assurance that all the world had confidence 
in her, — 

“ Here, give me the girl. What do you men-folks know 
about women? ” 

“ I declare, it’s Mrs. Groody from the hotel,” ejaculated 
Tom Growl, as this delightful drama (to him) went on from 
act to act. 

^‘Standin’ there and holdin’ of her,” continued Mrs. 
Groody, who was sometimes a little severe on both sexes, 
“won’t bring her to, unless she fainted ’cause she wanted 
some one to hold her.” 

A general laugh greeted this implied satire, but Arden, 
between anger and desire to do something, was almost 
beside himself. He had the presence of mind to rush to 
the boat-house for a bucket of water, and when he arrived 
with it a man had also procured a lantern, which revealed 
to the curious onlookers who gathered round with craning 
necks the pale features of Edith Allen. 

“ By golly, but it’s one of them Allen girls,” said Tom 
Growl, eagerly. “ I see it all now. She’s down to stop her 
sister, who’s just run away with one of those city scamps that 
was up here awhile ago. I saw her join him and take his arm 
on the boat, but wasn’t sure who she was then.” 


WHA T CA// SHE DO f 


?42 


“ Might know you was around, Tom Growl,” said Mrs- 
Groody. “ There’s never nothing wrong going on but you 
see it. You are worse than any old woman for gossip. 
Why don’t you put on petticoats and go out to tea for a 
livin’?” 

When the laugh ceased at Growl’s expense, he said, — 

“ Don’t you put on airs, Mrs. Groody ; you are as glad to 
hear the news as any one. It’s a pity you turned up and 
spoiled Mr. Lacey’s part, of the play, for, if this one is any- 
thing like her sister, she, perhaps, wanted to be held, as 
you — ” 

Tom’s further utterance was effectually stopped by such a 
blow across his mouth, from Lacey’s hand, as brought the 
blood profusely on the spot, and caused such disfigurement, 
for days after, that appropriate justice seemed visited on the 
offending region. 

“ Leave this dock,” said Arden, sternly ; and if I trace 
any slander to you concerning this lady or myself, I will break 
every bone in your miserable body.” 

Growl shrank off amid the jeers of the crowd, but on reach- 
ing a safe distance, said, “ You will be sorry for this.” 

Arden paid no heed to him, for Edith, under Mrs. Groody’s 
treatment, gave signs of returning consciousness. She slowly 
opened her eyes, and turned them wonderingly around ; then 
came a look of wild alarm, as she saw herself surrounded by 
strange bearded faces, that appeared both savage and gro- 
tesque in the flickering light of the lantern.” 

O Heaven ! have mercy,” she cried, faintly. “ Where 
am I?” 

'' Among friends, I assure you. Miss Allen,” said Arden, 
kneeling at her side. 

“ Mr. Lacey ! and are you here ? ” said Edith, trying to 
rise. ^‘You surely will protect me.” 

“ Do not be afraid. Miss Allen. No one would harm you 


DESOLA TIOJSr. 


243 

for the world ; and Mrs. Groody is a good kind lady, and 
will see you safely home, I am sure.” 

Edith now became conscious that it was Mrs. Groody who 
was supporting her, and regained confidence, as she recog- 
nized the presence of a woman. 

“ Law bless you, child, you needn’t be scared. You have 
only had a faint. I’ll take care of you, as young Lacey says. 
Seems to me he’s got wonderfully polite since last summer,” 
she muttered to herself. 

“ But where am I?” asked Edith, with a bewildered air; 

what has happened? ” 

‘‘ Oh, don’t worry yourself ; you’ll soon be home and safe.” 

But the memory of it all suddenly came to Edith, and 
even by the lantern’s light, Arden saw the sudden crimson 
pour into her face and neck. She gave one wild, deprecat- 
ing look around, and then buried her face in her hands as if 
to hide the look of scorn she expected to see on every face. 

The first arrow aimed by Zell’s great wrong already quiv- 
ered in her heart. 

“ Don’t you think you could walk a little now, just enough 
to get into the hack with me and go home? ” asked the kind 
woman, in a soothing voice. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Edith, eagerly ; let us get away at once.” 
And with Mrs. Groody’s and Arden’s assistance, she was 
soon seated in the hack, and was glad to note that there 
was no other passenger. The ride was a comparatively silent 
one. Edith was too exhausted from her desperate struggle 
to reach the boat, and her heart was too bruised and sore, 
to permit on her part much more than monosyllables, in 
answer to Mrs. Groody’s efforts at conversation. But as they 
stopped at the cottage her new friend said, cheerily, — 

“ Don’t take it so hard, my child ; you ain’t to blame. 
I’ll stand by you if no one else will. It don’t take me long 
to know a good honest girl when I see one, and I know you 


244 


WI/A T CAN SHE DO ? 


mean well. What’s more, I’ve took a likin’ to you, and I 
can be a pretty fair sort of friend if I do work for a livin’.” 

Mrs. Groody was good if not grammatical. She had 
broad shoulders, that had borne in their day many burdens ; 
her own and others’. She had a strong, stout frame, in which 
thumped a large, kindly heart. She had long earned her 
bread by callings that brought her in contact with all classes, 
and had learned to know the world very thoroughly without 
becoming worldly or hardened. But she had a quick, sharp 
tongue, and could pay anybody off in his own coin with 
interest. Everybody soon found it to his advantage to keep 
on the right side of Mrs. Groody, and the old habitues, of the 
hotel were as polite and deferential to her as if she were a 
duchess. She was one of those shrewd, strong, cheery people, 
who would make themselves snug, useful, and influential in a 
very short time, if set down anywhere on the face pf the earth. 

Such a woman readily surmised the nature of Edith’s 
trouble, and knew well how deeply the shadow of Zell’s dis- 
grace would fall on the family. Edith’s desperate effort to 
save her sister, her bitter humiliation and shrinking shame 
in view of the flight, all proved her to be worthy of respect 
and confidence herself. When Mrs. Groody saw that Edith 
lived in a little house, and was probably not in so high a 
social position as to resent her patronage, her big heart 
yearned in double sympathy over the poor girl, and she 
determined to help her in the struggle she knew to be before 
her ; so she said, kindly, — 

“ If you’ll wait till a clumsy old body like me can get out. 
I’ll see you safe into your home.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Edith, eagerly, following the strong instinct 
to keep a stranger from seeing herself, her mother, and Laura 
in the first hour of their shame. “ You have been very kind, 
and I feel that I can never repay you.” 

“ Bless you, child, I don’t expect greenbacks for all I do. 


DESOLA TION. 


245 


h 

I want a little of the Lord’s work to come to me, though I’m 
afraid I fell from grace long ago. But a body can’t be pious 
in a hotel. There’s so many aggravatin’ people and things 
that you think swearin’, if you darsn’t say it out. But I’m 
a human sort of a heathen, after all, and I feel sorry for you. 
Now ain’t there somethin’ I can do for you?” 

The driver stood with his lantern near the door, and its 
rays fell on Edith’s pale face and large, tearful eyes, and she 
turned, and for the first time tried to see who this kind 
woman was, that seemed to feel for her. Taking Mrs. 
Groody’s hands, she said, in a voice of tremulous pathos, — 

“ God bless you for speaking to me at all. I didn’t think 
any one would again who knew. You ask if you can do 
anything for me. If you’ll only get me work. I’ll bless you 
every day of my life. No one on earth or in heaven can 
help me, unless I get work. I’m almost desperate for it, and 
I can’t seem to find any that will bring us bread, but I’ll do 
any honest work, no matter what, and I’ll take whatever 
people are willing to give for it, till I can do better.” Edith 
spoke in a rapid manner, but in a tone that went straight to 
the heart. 

“ Why, my poor child,” said Mrs. Groody, wiping her 
eyes, you can’t do work. You are pale as a ghost, and you 
look like a delicate lady.” 

“ What is there in this world for a delicate lady who has 
no money but honest work?” asked Edith, in a tone that 
was almost stern. 

“ I see that you are such a lady, and it seems that you 
ought to find some lady-like work, if you must do it,” said 
Mrs. Groody, musingly.- 

“We have tried to get employment — almost any kind. 
I can’t think my sister would have taken her desperate 
course if we could have obtained something to do. I know 
she ought to have starved first. But we were not brought 


246 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


up to work, and we can’t do anything well enough to satisfy 
people, and we haven’t time to learn. Besides, before this 
happened, for some reason people stood aloof from us, and 
now it will be far worse. Oh, what shall we do? What 
shall we do? ” cried Edith, despairingly ; and in her trouble 
she seemed to turn her eyes away from Mrs. Groody, with 
wild questioning of the future. 

Her new acquaintance was sniffling and blowing her nose 
in a manner that betokened serious internal commotion 
The driver, who would have hustled any ordinary passengei 
out quickly enough, waited Mrs. Groody’s leisure at a re- 
spectful distance. He knew her potential influence at the 
hotel. At last the good woman found her voice, though it 
seemed a little husky : — 

“ Lor’ bless you, child ! I ain’t got a millstun for a heart, 
and if I had, you’d turn it into wax. If work’s all you want, 
you shall have it. I’m housekeeper at the hotel. You comC' 
to me as soon as you are able, and we’ll find something.” 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you ! ” said Edith, fervidly. 

“ Is dat you. Miss Edie? ” called Hannibal’s anxious voice. 

“ Good night, my dear,” said Mrs. Groody, hastily. 
“ Don’t lose courage. I ain’t on as good terms with the 
Lord as I ought to be. I seem too worried and busy to 
’tend to religion ; but I know enough about Him to be 
sure that He will take care of a poor child that wants to do 
right.” 

“ I don’t understand how God lets happen all that’s hap- 
pened to-day. The best I can believe is, that we are dealt 
with in a mass, and the poor human atoms are lost sight of. 
But I am indeed grateful for your kindness, and will come 
to-morrow and do anything I can. Goodby.” 

And the hack rumbled away, leaving her in the darkness, 
with Hannibal at the gate. 

“ 0 Hannibal, Hannibal,” was all that Edith could say. 


DESOLA TION. 247 

''Is she done gone clean away?” asked Hannibal, in an 
awed whisper. 

Would to heaven she had never been born ! ” said Edith, 
bitterly. “ Help me into the house, for I feel as if I should 
die.” 

Hannibal, trembling with fear himself, supported poor, 
exhausted Edith to a sofa, and then disappeared into the 
kitchen. 

Mrs. Allen and Laura came and stood with white faces by 
Edith’s languid, unnerved form. 

There was no need of asking questions. She had returned 
alone, with her fresh young face looking old and drawn in 
its grief. 

At last Mrs. Allen said, with bitter emphasis,. — 

She is no child of mine, from this day forth.” 

Then followed such a dreary silence that it might seem 
that Zell had died and was no more. 

At last Hannibal bustled in, making a most desperate effort 
to keep up a poor show of courage and hope. He placed 
on a little table before Edith a steaming hot cup of tea, 
some toast, and wine, but the food was motioned away. 

It would choke me,” said Edith. 

Hannibal stood before her a moment, his quaint old visage 
working under the influence of emotion, almost beyond con- 
trol. At last he managed to say, — 

“ Miss Edie, we’se all a leanin’ on you. We’se nothin’ 
but vines a climbin’ up de orange-bush. If you goes down, 
we all does. And now. Miss Edie, I’d swallow pison for you. 
Won’t you take a cup o’ tea for de sake of ole Hannibal ? 
’Cause your sweet face looks so pinched, honey, dat I feels 
dat my ole black heart’s ready to bust ; ” and Hannibal, feel- 
ing that the limit of his. restraint was reached, retreated pre- 
cipitately to the kitchen. 

The appeal, with its element of deep affection^ was more 


248 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


needed by Edith in her half-paralyzed state than even the 
material refreshment. She sat up instantly, and drank the 
tea and wine, and ate a little of the toast. Then taking 
the cup and glass into the kitchen, — 

“There,” she said, “see. I’ve drunk every drop. So 
don’t worry about me any more, my poor old Hannibal, 
but go to bed, after your hard day’s work.” 

But Hannibal would not venture out of his dark corner, 
but muttered, brokenly, — 

“ Lor — bress — you — Miss Edie — you’se an angel — ■ 
I’se be better soon — I’se got — de hiccups.” 

Edith thought it kindness to leave the old man to recover 
his self-control in his own time and way, so she said, — 

“ Good night, my faithful old friend. You’re worth your 
weight in gold.” 

Meantime, Laura had helped Mrs. Allen to her room, but 
now she came running down to Edith, with new trouble in 
her face, saying, — 

“ Mother’s crying so, I can’t do anything with her.” 

At first Mrs. Allen’s heart seemed hardened against her 
erring child, but on reaching her room she stood a few 
moments irresolutely, then went to a drawer, took out an 
old faded picture-case and opened it. From it Zell smiled 
out upon her, a little, dimpled baby. Then, as if by a sud- 
den impulse rare to her, she pressed her lips against the 
unconscious face, and threw herself into her low chair, 
sobbing so violently that Laura became 'alarmed. 

Even in that arid place, Mrs. Allen’s heart, there appeared 
a little oasis of mother love, as this last and bitterest sorrow 
pierced its lowest depths. She might cast out from hei 
affection the grown, sinning daughter, but not the baby that 
once slept upon her breast. 

As Edith came and took her hand she said, brokenly, — 

“ It seems — but yesterday — that she was — a vyee 


DESOL A TION. 


249 


i):ack-eyed — little thing — in my arms — and your father 
— came — and looked at her — so proudly — tenderly — ” 

“ Would to heaven she had died then ! ” said Edith, 
sternly. 

“ It would have been better if we had all died then,” 
said Mrs. Allen drearily, and becoming quiet. 

Edith’s words fell like a chill upon her unwontedly stirreti 
heart, and old habits of feeling and action resumed sway. 

With Mrs. Allen’s words ended the miserable day of Zell’s 
flight. Hannibal’s words were true. Zell, in her unnatural 
absence, would be more in the way — a heavier burden — 
than if she had become a helpless invalid upon their hands. 



250 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XXL 


Edith’s true knight. 


HE next morning Edith was too ill to rise. She had 



i become chilled after her extraordinary exertion of the 
previous evening, and a severe cold was the consequence ; 
and this, with the nervous prostration of an over-taxed 
system, made her appear more seriously indisposed than 
she really was. For the sake of her mother and Laura, she 
wished to be present at the meagre little breakfast which her 
economy now permitted, but found it impossible ; and later 
in the day her mind seemed disposed to wander. 

Mrs. Allen and Laura were terror-stricken at this new 
trouble. As Hannibal had said, they were all leaning on 
Edith. They had lost confidence in themselves, and now 
hoped nothing from the outside world. They had scarcely the 
shadow of an expectation that Van Dam would marry Zell, 
and therefore they knew that woise than work would sepa- 
rate them from all old connections, and they had learned to 
hope nothing from the people of Pushton. Poor, feverish, 
wandering Edith seemed the only one who could keep them 
from falling into the abyss of utter want. They instinctively 
felt that total wreck was impossible as long as she kept her 
hand upon the helm ; but now they had all the wild alarm 
of those who are drifting helplessly toward a reef, with a 
deep and stormy sea on either side of it. Thus to the 
natural anxiety of affection was added sickening fear. 

Poor old Hannibal had no fear for himself. His devotion 


EDITirS TRUE KNIGHT. 


251 


to Edith reminded one of a faithful dog ; it was so strong, 
instinctive, unreasoning. He realized vaguely that his whole 
existence depended on Edith’s getting well, and yet we 
doubt whether he thought of himself any more than the 
Newfoundland, who watches beside the bed, and then be- 
side the grave of a loved master, till famine, that form oi 
pain which humanity cannot endure, robs him of life. 

“ We must have a physician immediately,” said Laura 
with white lips. 

Oh, no,” murmured Edith ; “ we can’t afford it.” 

“ We must,” said Laura, with a sudden rush of tears. 

Everything depends on you.” 

Hannibal, who heard this brief dialogue, went silently 
down stairs, and at once started in quest of Arden Lacey. 

“ If he is quar, he seemed kind o’ human ; and I’.se 
believe he’ll help us now.” 

Arden was on the way to the barn, having just finished a 
farmer’s twelve o’clock dinner, when Hannibal entered the 
yard. An angel of light could not have been more welcome 
than this dusky messenger, for he came from the centre of 
all light and hope to poor Arden. Then a feeling of alarm 
took possession of him. Had anything happened to Edith? 
He had seen her shrinking shame. Had it led her to — 
and he shuddered at the thought his wild imagination 
suggested. It was almost a relief when Hannibal said, — 

“ O Mr. Lacey, I’se sure from de way you acted when we 
fust come, dat you can feel for people in trouble. Miss 
Edie’s berry sick, and I don’t know whar to go for a doctor, 
and she won’t have any ; but she mus, and right away. Den 
again, I oughter not leave, for dey’s all nearly dead wid 
trouble and cryin’.” 

“You are a good, faithful fellow,” said Arden, heartily. 
“ Go back and do all you can for Miss Edith, and I’ll bring 
a doctor myself, and much quicker too than you could.” 


252 


IVHA T CAA^ SHE DO ? 


Before Hannibal reached home, Arden galloped past him, 
and the old man chuckled, — 

“ De drunken Laceys’ mighty good neighbors when dey’s 
sober.” 

As may well be imagined, recent events, as far as he un- 
derstood them, had stirred Arden’s sensitive nature to the 
very depths. Hiding his feelings from all save his mother, 
and often from her ; appearing to his neighbors stolid and 
sullen in the extreme, he was, in fact, in his whole being, 
like a morbidly-excited nerve. He did not shrink from the 
world because indifferent to it, but because it wounded him 
when he came in contact with it. He seemed so out of 
tune with society that it produced only jarring discord. His 
father’s course brought him many real slights, and these he 
resented as we have seen, and he resented fancied slights 
quite as often, and thus he had cut himself off from the sym- 
pathies, and even the recognition, of nearly all. 

But what human soul can dwell alone? The true hermit 
finds in communion with the Divine mind the perfection of 
companionship. But Arden knew not God. He had heard 
of Him all his life; but Jove and Thor were images more 
familiar to his mind than that of his Creator. He loved his 
mother and sister, but their life seemed a poor, shaded little 
nook, where they toiled and moped. And so, to satisfy the 
cravings of his lonely heart, he had created and peopled an 
unreal world of his own, in which he dwelt most of the time. 
As his interest in the real world ceased, his imagination more 
vividly portrayed the shadowy one, till at last, in the scenes 
of poetry and fiction, and the splendid panorama of history, 
he thought he might rest satisfied, and find all the society he 
needed in converse with those whom, by a refinement of 
spiritualism, he could summon to his side from any age or 
land. He secretly exulted in the srill greater magic by which 
the unreal creatures of poetic thought would come at his 


EDITH^S TRUE KNIGHT. 


253 


volition, and he often smiled to think how royally attended 
was “ old, drunken Lacey’s ” son, whom many of the neigh- 
bors thought scarcely better than the horses he drove. 

Thus he lived under a spell of the past, in a world moon- 
lighted by sentiment and fancy, surrounded by his ideals of 
those about, whom he read, and Shakespeare’s vivid, life-like 
women were better known to him than any of the ladies of 
Pushton. But dreams cannot last in our material world, and 
ghosts vanish in the sunlight of fact. Woman’s .nature is as 
beautiful and fascinating now as when the master-hand of the 
world’s greatest poet delineated it, and when living, breath- 
ing Edith Allen stepped suddenly among his shadows, seem- 
ingly so luminous, they vanished before her, as the stars pale 
into nothingness when the eastern sky is aglow with morning. 
Now, in all his horizon, she only shone, but the past seemed 
like night, and the present, day. 

The circumstances under which he had met Edith had, 
in brief time, done more to acquaint him with her than years 
might have accomplished, and for the first time in his life he 
saw a superior girl with the distorting medium of his preju- 
dice pushed aside. Therefore she was a sudden beautiful 
revelation to him, as vivid as unexpected. He did not be- 
lieve any such being existed, and indeed there did not, if we 
consider into what he came to idealize Edith. But a better 
Edith really lived than the unnatural paragon that he pic- 
tured to himself, and the reality was capable of a vast im- 
provement, though not in the direction that his morbid mind 
would have indicated. 

The treatment of his sister, the sudden ceasing of all inter- 
course, and the appearance of Gus Elliot upon the scene, 
had cruelly wounded his fair ideal, but with a lover’s faith 
and a poet’s fancy he soon repaired the ravages of facts. 
He assured himself that Edith did not know the charactei 
of the men who visited her house. 


254 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Then came Growl’s gossip, the knowledge of her poverty, 
and her wretched errands to New York to dispose of the 
relics of the happy past. He gathered from such observa- 
tion as he could maintain without being suspected, by every 
crumb of gossip that he could pick up (for once he listened 
to gossip as if it were gospel), that they were in trouble, that 
Edith was looking for work, and that she was so superior to 
the rest of the family that they now all deferred to her and 
leaned upon her. Then, to his deep satisfaction, he had 
seen Elliot, the morning after his scathing repulse, going to 
the train, and looking forlorn and sadly out of humor, and 
he was quite sure he had not been near the little cottage 
since. Arden needed but little fact upon which to rear a 
wondrous superstructure, and here seemed much, and all 
in Edith’s favor, and he longed with an intensity beyond 
language to do something to help her. 

Then came the tragedy of Zell’s flight, Edith’s heroic and 
almost superhuman effort to save her, now followed by her 
pathetic weakness and suffering, and no knight in the roman- 
tic age of chivalry ever more wholly and loyally devoted 
himself to the high-born lady of his choice, than did Arden 
to the poor sick girl at whom the finger of scorn would now 
be generally pointed in Pushton. 

To come back to our hero, galloping away on his old 
farm horse to find a country doctor, may seem a short step 
down from the sublime. And so, perhaps, it may be to 
those whose ideal of the sublime is only in outward and 
material things. But to those who look past these things 
to the passionate human heart, the same in every age, it 
will be evident that Arden was animated by the same spirit 
with which he would have sought and fought the traditional 
dragon. 

Dr. Neak, a new-comer who was gaining some little name 
for skill and success, and was making the most of it, was at 


EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT 255 

home ; but on Arden’s hurried application, ahemmed, hesi- 
tated, colored a little, and at last said, — 

“ Look here, Mr. (I beg your pardon. I’ve not the 

pleasure of knowing your name). I’m a comparative stranger 
in Pushton, and am just gaining some little reputation among 
the better classes. I would rather not compromise myself 
by attendance upon that family. If you can’t get any one 
else, and the girl is suffering, of course I’ll try and go, but — ” 
“ Enough,” interrupted Arden, starting up blazing with 
wrath. “ You should spell your name with an S. I want a 
man as well as a physician,” and, with a look of utter con- 
tempt, he hastened away, leaving the medical man some- 
what anxious, not about Edith, but whether he had taken 
the best course in view of his growing reputation. 

Arden next traced out Dr. Blunt, who readily promised 
to come. He attended all alike, and charged roundly 
also. 

“ Business is business,” was his motto. “ People who em- 
ploy me must expect to pay. After all, I’m the cheapest 
man in the place, for I tell my patients the truth, and cure 
them as quickly as possible.” 

Arden’s urgency soon brought him to Edith’s side, and 
his practised eye saw no serious cause for alarm, and having 
heard more fully the circumstances, he said, — 

“ She will be well in a few days if she is kept very quiet, 
and nothing new sets in. Of course she would be sick after 
last night. One might as well put his hand in the fire and 
not expect it to burn him, as to get very warm and then cool 
off suddenly and not expect to be ill. Her pulse indicates 
general depression of her system, and need of rest. That’s 
all.” 

After prescribing remedies and a tonic, he said, Let me 
know if I am needed again,” and departed in rather ill 
humor. 


256 


WIfA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Meeting Arden’s anxious, questioning face at the gate, he 
said gruffly, — 

“ I thought from what you said the girl was dying. Used 
up and a bad cold, that’s all. Somewhat feverish yourself, 
ain’t you?” he added meaningly. 

Though x\rden colored under the doctor’s satire, he was 
chiefly conscious of a great relief that his idol was not in 
danger. His only reply was the sullen, impassive expression 
he usually turned toward the world. 

As the doctor rode away, Hannibal joined him, saying, — 

“Mr. Lacey, you’se a friend in need, and if you only 
knowed what an angel you’se servin’, you wouldn’t look so 
cross.” 

“Do I look cross?” asked Arden, his face becoming 
friendly in a moment. “ Well, it wasn’t with you, still less 
with Miss Edith ; for even you cannot serve her more gladly 
than I will. That old doctor r’iled me a little, though I can 
forgive him, since he says she is not seriously ill.” 

“ I’se glad you feels your privileges,” said Hannibal, with 
some dignity. “ I’se knowed Miss Edie eber since she was 
a baby, and when we lived on de avenue, de biggest and 
beautifullest in de city come to our house, but none of ’em 
could compare wid my young lady. I don’t care what folks 
say, she’s jes as good now, if she be poor, and her sister hab 
run away, poor chile. De world don’t know all ; ” and old 
Hannibal shook his white head sadly and reproachfully. 

This panegyric found strong echo in Arden’s heart, but 
his habit of reticence and his sensitive shrinking from any 
display of feeling permitted him only to say, “ I am sure 
every word you say is more than true, and you will do me a 
great favor when you let me know how I can serve Miss 
Edith.” 

Hannibal saw that he need waste no more ammunition on 
Arden, so he pulled out the prescriptions, and said, — 


EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT 


257 


“The doctor guv me dese, but, Lor bress you, my ole 
jints is stiff, and I’d be a week in gittin’ down and back from 
de wiLage.” 

“7. „at’s enough,” interrupted' Arden. “You shall have 
the medicines in half an hour ; ” and he kept his word. 

“H-2 is quar,” muttered Hannibal, looking after him. 

Neber saw a man so ’bligin’. Folks say winegar ain’t 
nothin’ to him, but he seems sweet on Miss Edie, sure ’nuff. 
What ’ud he say, ‘ You’se do me great favor to tell me how 
I can serve Miss Edie’? I’se hope it’ll last,” chuckled 
Hannibal, retiring to his domain in the kitchen, “’cause I’se 
gwii ? to do him a heap ob favors.” 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


258 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A MYSTERY. 


T Arden’s request his mother called in the evening, 



i\. and also Mrs. Groody, from the hotel. Hannibal met 
them, and stated the doctor’s orders. Mrs. Allen and Laura 
did not feel equal to facing any one. Though the old servant 
was excessively polite, the callers felt rather slighted that 
they saw no member of the family. They went away a little 
chilled in consequence, and contented themselves thereafter 
by sending a few delicacies and inquiring how Edith was. 

“ If you have any self-respect at all,” said Rose Lacey to 
her mother, “ you will not go there again till you are invited. 
It’s rather too great condescension for you to go at all, after 
what has happened.” 

Arden listened with a black look, and asked, rather 
sharply, — 

“Will you never learn to distinguish between Miss Edith 
and the others ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Rose, dryly, “ when she gives me a chance.” 

The doctor’s view of Edith’s case was correct. Her 
vigorous and elastic constitution soon rallied from the shock 
it had received. Hannibal had sent to the village for nutri- 
tious diet, which he knew so well how to prepare, and, after 
a few days, she was quite herself again. But with returning 
strength came also a sense of shame, anxiety, and a tortur- 
ing dread of the future. The money accruing from her last 
sale of jewelry would not pay the debts resting on them 


A MYSTERY. 


259 


now, and she could not hope to earn enough to pay the 
balance remaining, in addition to their support. Her 
mother suggested the mortgaging of her place. She had 
at first repelled the idea, but at last entertained it re- 
luctantly. There seemed no other resource. It would put 
off the evil day of utter want, and might give her time to 
learn something by which she could compete with trained 
workers. 

Then there was the garden. Might not that and the 
orchard, in time, help them out of their troubles ? 

As the long hours of her* convalescence passed, she sat at 
her window and scanned the little spot with a wistfulness 
that might have been given to one of Eden-like proportions. 
She was astonished to see how her strawberries had improved 
since she hoed them, but noted in dismay that both they and 
the rest of the garden were growing very weedy. 

When the full knowledge of their poverty and danger 
dawned upon her, she felt that it would not be right for 
Malcom to come any more. At the same time she could 
not explain things to him ; so she sent a written request 
through the mail for his bill, telling him not to come any 
more. This action, following the evening when Gus Elliot 
had surprised her in the garden, perplexed and rather nettled 
Malcom, who was, to use his own expression, “ a bit tetchy.” 
Their money had grown so scarce that Edith could not pay 
the bill, and she was ashamed to go to see him till there was 
some prospect of her doing so. Thus Malcom, though 
disposed to be very friendly, was lost to her at this critical 
time, and her garden suffered accordingly. She and Han- 
nibal had done what they could, but of late her illness, and 
the great accession of duties resting on the old servant, had 
caused complete neglect in her little plantation of fruit and 
vegetables. Thus, while all her crops were growing well, 
the weeds were gaining on them, and even Edith knew that 


26 o 


WI/A7' CAN SHE DO? 


the vigor of evil was in them, and that, unchecked, they 
would soon make a tangled swamp of that one little place 
of hope. She could not ask Hannibal to work there now, 
for he was overburdened already. Laura seemed so feeble 
and crushed that her strength was scarcely equal to taking 
care of her mother, and the few lighter duties of housework 
Therefore, though the June sunshine rested on the little 
garden, and all nature seemed in the rapture of its early 
summer life, poor, practical Edith saw only the pestiferous 
weeds that threatened to destroy her one slender prospect 
of escape from environing difficulties. At last she turned 
away. To the sad and suffering, scenes most full of cheer 
and beauty often seem the most painful mockery. 

She brooded over her affairs most of the day, dwelling 
specially on the suggestion of a mortgage. She felt extreme 
reluctance in perilling her home. Then again she said to 
herself, '' It will at least give me time, and perhaps the place 
will be sold for debt, for we must live.” 

The next morning she slept late, her weary, over-taxed 
frame asserting its need. But she rose greatly refreshed, 
and it seemed that her strength had come back. With 
returning vigor hopefulness revived. She felt some cessa- 
tion of the weary, aching sorrow at her heart. The world is 
phosphorescent to the eyes of youth, and even ingulfing 
waves of misfortune will sometimes gleam with sudden 
brightness. 

The morning light also brought Edith a pleasant surprise, 
for, as she was dressing, her eyes eagerly sought the straw- 
berry-bed. She had been thinking, “ If I only continue to 
gain in this style, I shall soon be able myself to attack the 
weeds.” Therefore, instead of a helpless look, such as she 
gave yesterday, her glance had something vengeful and 
threatening in it. But the moment she opened the lattice, 
so that she could see, an exclamation came from her lips, and 


A MYSTERY. 


261 

she threw back the blinds, in order that there might be no 
mistake as to the wonder that startled her. What magic 
had transformed the little place since, in the twilight of the 
previous evening, she had given the last discouraged look in 
that direction? There was scarcely a weed to be seen in 
the strawberry-bed. They had not only been cut off, but 
raked away, and here and there she could see a berry red- 
dening in the morning sun. In addition, some of her most 
important vegetables, and her prettiest flower border, had 
been cleaned and nicely dressed. A long row of Dan 
O’Rourk peas, that had commenced to sprawl on the 
ground, was now hedged in by brush ; and, better still, 
thirty cedar poles stood tall and straight among her Lima 
beans whose long slender shoots had been vainly feeling 
round for a support the last few days. Her first impulse was 
to clap her hands with delight and exclaim, — 

“ How, in the name of wonder, could he do it all in a 
night ! O Malcom, you are a canny Scotchman, but you put 
the ‘ black art ’ to very white uses.” 

She dressed in excited haste, meaning to question Hanni- 
bal, but, as she left her room, Laura met her, and said, in a 
tone of the deepest despondency, — 

“ Mother seems very ill. She has not felt like herself 
since that dreadful night, but we did not like to tell you, 
fearing it would put back your recovery.” 

The rift in the heavy clouds, through which the sun had 
gleamed for a moment, now closed, and a deeper gloom 
seemed to gather round them. In sudden revulsion Edith 
said, bitterly, — 

“ Are we to be persecuted to the end ? Cannot the heavy 
hand of misfortune be lifted a moment? ” 

She found her mother suffering from a low nervous fever, 
and quite delirious. 

Hannibal was at once despatched for the doctor, who, 


262 


WNA T CAN SHE DO ? 


having examined Mrs. Allen’s symptoms, shook his head, 
saying,— . 

Nothing but good nursing will bring her through this.” 

Edith’s heart sank like lead. What prospect was there 
for work now, even if Mrs. Groody gave it to her, as she had 
promised? She saw nothing before her but the part of a 
weary watcher, for perhaps several weeks. She hesitated no 
longer, but resolved to mortgage her place at once. Her 
mother must have delicacies and good attendance, and she 
must have time to extricate herself from the difficulties into 
which she had been brought by false steps at the beginning. 
Therefore she told Hannibal to give her an early lunch, after 
which she would walk to the village. 

“You isn’t able,” said he earnestly. 

“O yes, I am,” she replied ; “better able than to stay at 
home and worry. I must have something settled, and my 
mind at rest, even for a little while, or I shall go distracted.” 
Then she added, “ Did you see Malcom here early this 
morning?” 

“ No, Miss Edie, he hasn’t been here.” 

“ Go look at the garden.” 

He returned with eyes dilated in wonder, and asked 
quickly, “ Miss Edie, when was all dat done? ” 

“ Between dark last night and when I got up this morn- 
ing. It seems like magic, don’t it? But of course it is 
Malcom’s work. I only wish I could see him.” 

But Hannibal shook his head ominously and said with 
emphasis, “ Dat little Scotchman couldn’t scratch around 
like dat, even if de debil was arter him. ’Tain’t his work.” 

“Why, whose else could it be?” asked Edith, sipping a 
strong cup of coffee, with which she was fortifying herself 
for the walk. 

Hannibal only shook his head with a very troubled ex 
pression, but at last he ventured, — 


A MYSTERY. 


263 


If ’tis a spook, I hope it won’t do nothin’ wuss to us.” 

Even across Edith’s pale face a wan smile flitted at this 
solution of the mystery, and she said, — 

“ Why, Hannibal, you foolish old fellow ! The idea of a 
ghost hoeing a strawberry-bed and sticking in bean-poles ! 

But Hannibal’s superstitious nature was deeply stirred. 
He had been under a severe strain himself of late, and the 
succession of sorrows and strange experiences was telling on 
him as well as on the others. He could not indulge in a 
nervous fever, like Mrs. Allen, but he had reached that stage 
when he could easily see visions, and tremble before the 
slightest vestige of the supernatural. So he replied a little 
doggedly, — 

“ Spooks does a heap ob quar tings. Miss Edie. I’d tink 
it was Massa Allen, ony I knows dat he neber hab a hoe in 
his hand all his life. I doesn’t like it. I’d radder hab de 
weeds.” 

“ O Hannibal, Hannibal ! I couldn’t believe it of you. I’ll 
go and see Malcom, just to satisfy you.” 


264 


WHA T CAN SHE DC ? 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A DANGEROUS STEP. 


DITH took h.er deed, and went first to Mr. Hard. There 



1 j were both coldness and curiosity in his manner, but he 
could gather little from Edith’s face through her thick veil. 

She had a painful shrinking from meeting people again 
after what had happened, and this was greatly increased by 
the curious and significant looks she saw turned toward her 
as soon as it was surmised who she was. 

Mr. Hard promptly declined to lend any money. He 
never did such things,” he said. 

Where would I be apt to get it? ” asked Edith, despond- 
ently. 

I scarcely know. Money is scarce, and people don’t like 
to lend it on country mortgages, especially when there may be 
trouble. Lawyer Keen might give you some information.” 

To his office Edith went, with slow, heavy steps, and 
presented her case. 

Mr. Keen was a red-faced, burly-looking man, hiding the 
traditional shrewdness of a village lawyer under a bluff, out- 
spoken manner. He had a sort of good-nature, which, 
though not leading him to help others who were in trouble, 
kept him from trying to get them into more trouble, and he 
quite prided himself on this. He heard Edith partly through, 
and then interrupted her, saying, — 

“ Couldn’t think of it, miss. Widows, orphans, and 
churches are institutions on which a fellow can never fore- 


A DANGEROUS STEP. 265 

close. I’ll give you good advice, and won’t charge you 
anything for it. You had better keep out of debt.” 

“ But I must have the money,” said Edith. 

“ Then you have come to the wrong shop for it,” replied 
the lawyer, coolly. “ Here’s Growl, now, he lends where I 
wouldn’t. He’s got money of his own, while I invest 
mainly for other people.” 

Edith’s attention was thus directed to another red-faced 
man, whom, thus far, she had scarcely noticed, though he 
had been watching her with the closest scrutiny. He was 
quite corpulent, past middle age, and not much taller than 
herself. He was quite bald, and had what seemed a black 
moustache, but Edith’s quick eye noted that it was unskil- 
fully dyed. There seemed a wide expanse in his heavy, 
flabby cheeks, and the rather puggish nose appeared insignifi- 
cant between them. A slight tobacco stain in one corner of 
his mouth did not increase his attractions to Edith, and she 
positively shrank from the expression of his small, cunning 
black eyes. He was dressed both showily and shabbily, 
and a great breastpin was like a blotch upon his rumpled 
shirt-bosom. 

‘‘ Let me see your deed, my dear,” he said, with coarse 
familiarity. 

“ My name is Miss Allen,” replied Edith, with dignity. 

The man paid little heed to her rebuke, but looked over 
the deed with slow and microscopic scrutiny. At last he 
said to Edith, whom nothing but dire necessity impelled to 
h^ive dealings with so disagreeable a person, — 

‘‘Will you come with me to my office?” 

Reluctantly she followed. At first she had a strong im- 
pulse to have nothing to do with him, but then she thought, 
“ It makes no difference of whom I borrow the money, for 
it must be paid in any case, and perhaps I can’t get it any- 
where else.” 


266 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ Are you sure there is no other mortgage ? ” he asked. 
Yes,” replied Edith. 

How much do you want? ” 

I will try to make four hundred answer.” 

“I suppose you know how hard it is to borrow money 
now,” said Mr. Growl, in a depressing manner, “ especially 
in cases like this. I don’t believe you’d get a dollar any- 
where else in town. Even where everything is good and 
promising, we usually get a bonus on such a loan. The best 
I could do would be to let you have three hundred and sixty 
on such a mortgage.” 

“Then give me my deed. The security is good, and I’m 
not willing to pay more than seven per cent.” 

Old Growl looked a moment at her resolute face, beautiful 
even in its pallor and pain, and a new thought seemed to 
strike him. 

“ Well, well,” said he, with an awkward show of gallantry, ' 
“ one can’t do business with a pretty girl as with a man. 
You shall make your own terms.” 

“ I wish to make no terms whatever,” said Edith, frigidly. 

“ I only expect what is right and just.” 

“ And I’m the man that’ll do what’s right and just when 
appealed to by the fair unfortunate,” said Mr. Growl, with a 
wave of his hand. 

Edith’s only response to this sentiment was a frown, and 
an impatient tapping of the floor with her foot. 

“ Now, see how I trust you,” he continued, filling out a 
check. “There is the money. I’ll draw up the papers, 
and you may sign them at your leisure. Only just put your 
name to this receipt, which gives the nature of our trans- 
action ; ” and, in a scrawling hand, he soon stated the case. 

It v/as with strong misgivings that Edith took the money 
and gave her signature, but she did not see what else to do, 
and she was already very weary. 


A DANGEROUS STEP. 


267 


“ You may call again the first time you are in the village, 
and by that time I’ll have things fixed up. You see now 
what it is to have a friend in need.” 

Edith’s only reply was a bow, and she hastened to the 
bank. The cashier looked curiously at her, and as he saw 
Growl’s check, smiled a little significant smile which she did 
not like ; but, at her request, he placed the amount, and 
what was left from the second sale of jewelry, to her credit, 
and gave her a small check-book. 


26S 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


SCORN AND KINDNESS. 


HOUGH her strength hardly seemed equal to it, she 



i determined to go and see Malcom, for she felt very! 
grateful to him. And yet the little time she had been inj 
the village made her fear to speak to him or any one againj 
and she almost felt that she would like to shrink into some! 
hidden place and die. M 

Quiet, respectable Pushton had been dreadfully scandal-1 
ized by Zell’s elopement with a man who by one brief visit! 
had gained such bad notoriety. Those who had stood! 
aloof, surmised, and doubted about the Allens before, now! 
said, triumphantly, “ I told you so.” Good, kind, Christian! 
people were deeply pained that such a thing could have! 
happened ; and it came to be the general opinion that the J 
Allens were anything but an acquisition to the neighborhood.! 

“ If they are going to bring that style of men here, the i 
sooner they move away the better,” was a frequent remark. | 
All save the “ baser sort ” shrank from having much to do | 
with them, and again Edith was insulted by the bold 1 
advances of some brazen clerks and shop-boys as she passed j 
along. She also saw significant glances and whisperings, and " 
once or twice detected a pointing finger. 

With cheeks burning with shame and knees trembling with 
weakness, she reached Malcom’s gate, to which she clung 
panting for a moment, and then passed in. The little man 
had his coat off, and, stooping in his strawberry-bed, he did 


SCORN AND KINDNESS. 


269 


look very small indeed. Edith approached quite near before 
he noticed her. He suddenly straightened himself up almost 
as a jumping-jack might, and gave her a sharp, surprised 
look. He had heard the gossip in several distorted forms, 
but what hurt him most was that she did not come or send 
to him. But when he saw her standing before him with her 
head bent down like a moss-rosebud wilting in the sun, when 
he met her timid, deprecating glance, his soft heart relented 
instantly, and coming toward her he said, — 

“ An’ ha’ ye coom to see ould Malcom at last ? What ha’ 
I dune that I suld be sae forgotten?” 

“You were not forgotten, Mr. McTrump. God knows 
that I have too few friends to forget the best of them,” 
answered Edith, in a voice of tremulous pathos. 

After that Malcom was wax in her hands, and with 
moistened eyes he stood gazing at her in undisguised 
admiration. 

“ I have been through deep trouble, Mr. McTrump,” con- 
tinued she, “ and perhaps you, like so many others, may think 
me not fit to speak to you any more. Besides, I have been 
very sick, and really ought not to be out to-day. Indeed 1 
feel very weak. Isn’t there some place where I could sit 
down ? ” 

“ Now God forgie me for an uncoo Highlander,” cried 
Malcom, springing forward, “to think that I suld let ye 
ston there, like a tall, white, swayin’ calla lily, in the rough 
wind. Take me arm till I support ye to the best room o’ 
me house.” 

Edith did take and cling to it with the feeling of one 
ready to fall. 

“ O Mr. McTrump, you are too kind,” she murmured. 

“Why suld I not be kind?” he said, heartily, “when I 
see ye nipt by the wourld’s unkindness? Why suld I not 
be kind ? Is the rose there to blame because a weed has 


2/0 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


grown alongside ? Ye could na help it that the wild bird 
flitted, and I heerd how ye roon like a brave lassie to stop 
her. But the evil wourld is quick to see the bad and slow to 
see the gude.” And Malcom escorted her like a “ leddy o’ 
high degree ” to his little parlor, and there she told him and 
his wife all her trouble, and Malcom seemed afflicted with 
a sudden cold in his head. Then Mrs. McTrump bustled 
in and out in a breezy eagerness to make her comfortable. 

“Ye’re a stranger in our toon,” she said, “and sae I was 
once mysel, an’ I ken how ye feel.” 

“An’ the Gude Book, which I hope ye read,” added the 
gallant Malcom, “ says hoo in entertainin’ a stranger ye may 
ha’ an angel aroond.” 

“O Mr. McTrump,” said Edith, with peony-like face, 
“ Hannibal is the only one who calls me that, and he doesn’t 
know any better.” 

“Why suld he know ony better?” responded Malcom 
quickly. “ I ha’ never seen an angel, na mair than I ha’ 
seen a goolden harp, but I’m athinkin’ a modest bonny lassie 
like yoursel cooms as near to ane as anything can in this 
wourld.” 

“But, Mr. McTrump,” said Edith, with a half- pathetic, 
half-comic face, “ I am in such deep trouble that I shall 
soon grow old and wrinkled, so I shall not be an angel long.” 

“ Na, na, dinna say that,” said Malcom earnestly. “An 
ye will, ye may keepit the angel a growin’ within ye alway, 
though ye live as old as Methuselah. D’ye see this wee 
brown seed ? There’s a mornin’-glory vine hidden in it, as 
would daze your een at the peep o’ day wi’ its gay blossoms. 
An’ ye see my ould gude wife there ? Ah, she will daze the 
een o’ the greatest o’ the earth in the bright springtime o’ 
the Resurrection ; and though I’m a little mon here, it may 
be I’ll see o’er the heads of soom up there.” 

“ An ye had true humeelity ye’d be a hopin’ to get there, 


SCORN AN-D KINDNESS. 2/1 

instead of expectin’ to speir o’er the heads o’ ye’re betters,” 
said his wife in a rebuking tone. 

“ ‘ A hopin’ to get there ’ ! ” said Malcom with some 
warmth. Why suld I hope when ‘ I know that my Re- 
deemer liveth ’ ? ” 

Edith’s eyes filled with wistful tears, for the quaint talk of 
these old people suggested a hope and faith that she knew 
nothing of. But, in a low voice, she said, “ Why does God 
let his creatures suffer so much? ” 

“ Bless your heart, puir child. He suffered mair than ony 
on us,” said Malcom tenderly. “ But ye’ll learn it a’ soon. 
He who fed the famishin’ would bid ye eat noo. But wait 
a bit till ye see what I’ll bring ye.” 

In a moment he was back with a dainty basket of Triomphe 
de Gand strawberries, and Edith uttered an exclamation of 
delight as she inhaled their delicious aroma. 

“ They are the first ripe the season, an’ noo see what the 
gude wife will do with them.” 

Soon their hulls were off, and, swimming in a saucer of 
cream, they were added to the dainty little lunch that Mrs. 
McTrump had prepared. 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Edith, drawing a long breath, “ you 
can’t know how you ease my poor sore heart. I began to 
think all the world was against me.” 

At this Malcom beat such a precipitate retreat that he 
half stumbled over a chair, but outside the door he ventured 
to say, — 

“ An ye coom out I’ll cut ye a posy before ye go.” But 
Edith saw him rub his rough sleeve across his eyes as he 
passed the window. His wife said, in a grave gentle tone, — 
Would ye might learn to know Him who said, ^ Be of 
good cheer, I have overcome the wourld.’ ” 

Edith shook her head sadly, and said, “ I don’t understand 
Him, and He seems far off.” 


2/2 


WIIA T CAN' SHE DO ? 


It’s only seemin’, me dear,” said the old woman kindly, 
but, as Malcom says, ye’ll learn it a’ by and by.” 

Mrs. McTrump was one of those simple souls who never 
presume to “ talk religion ” to any one. “ I can ony venture 
what I hope’ll be a ‘ word in season ’ nop and then, as the 
Maister gies me a chance,” she would say to her husband. 

Though she did not know it, she had spread before Edith 
a Gospel feast, and her genuine, hearty sympathy was teach- 
ing more than eloquent sermons could have done, and already 
the grateful girl was questioning, — 

‘‘What makes these people differ so from others?” 

With some dismay she saw how late it was growing, and 
hastened out to Malcom, who had cut an exquisite little 
bouquet for her, and had another basket of berries for her 
to take to her mother. 

“ Mr. McTrump,” said Edith, “ it’s time we had a settle- 
ment ; your kindness I never can repay, but I am able now 
to carry out my agreement.” 

“ Don’t bother me wi’ that noo,” said Malcom, rather 
testily. “ I ha’ no time to make oot your accoont in the 
height o’ the season. Let it ston till I ha’ time. An’ ye 
might help me soomtimes make up posies for the grand folk 
at the hotel. But how does your garden sin ye dismissed 
ould Malcom? ” 

“ O Mr. McTrump,” said Edith, slyly, “ do you know you 
almost scared old Hannibal out of his wits by the wonders 
you wrought last night or this morning in that same garden 
you inquire about so innocently. How can you work so fast 
and hard? ” 

“ The woonders I wrought ! Indeed I’ve not been near 
the garden sin ye told me not to coom. Ye could hardly 
expect otherwise of a Scotchman.” 

“Who, then, could it be?” said Edith, a little startled 
herself now, and she explained the mystery of the garden. 


SCOKN AND N/NDNESS. 


273 


He was as nonplussed as herself, but, scratching his bushy 
head, he said, with a canny look, “ I wud be glad if Hanni- 
bal’s ^ spook,’ as he ca’s it, would coom doon and hoe a bit 
for me,” and Edith was so cheered and refreshed that she 
could even join him in the laugh. 

They sent her away enveloped in the fragrance of straw- 
berries and roses from the little basket she carried. But the 
more grateful aroma of human sympathy seemed to create 
a buoyant atmosphere around her; and she passed back 
through the village strengthened and armed against the 
cold or scornful looks of those who, knowing her to be 
“ wounded,” had not even the grace to pass by indifferently 
“ on the other side.” 


274 


WHAT CAAT SHE DO? 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS. 

B y the time Edith reached home the transient strength 
and transient brightening of the skies seemed to pass 
away. Her mother was no better and the poor girl saw too 
plainly the grisly spectres, care, want, and shame upon her 
hearth, to fear any good fairy that left such traces as she saw 
in her garden. But the mystery troubled her ; she longed 
to know who it was. As she mused upon it on her way 
home, Arden Lacey suddenly occurred to her, and there was 
a glimmer of a smile and a faint increase of color on her 
pale face. But she did not suggest her suspicion to Hanni- 
bal, when he eagerly asked if it were Malcom. 

“No, strange to say, it was not,” said Edith. “Who 
could it have been? ” 

Hannibal’s face fell, and he looked very solemn. 
“Sumpen awful’s gwine to happen. Miss Edie,” he said, 
in a sepulchral tone. 

Edith broke into a sudden reckless laugh, and said, “ I 
think something awful is happening about as fast as it can. 
But never mind, Hannibal, we’ll watch to-night, and perhaps 
he will come again.” 

“O Miss Edie, I’se hope you’ll ’sense me. I couldn’t 
watch for a spook to save my life. I’se gwine to bed as 
soon as it’s dark, and cover up my head till mornin’.” 

“Very well,” said Edith, quietly. “I’m going to sit up 
with mother to-night, and if it comes again, I’ll see it.” 


A HORROR OF GREAT DARKHESS. 2/5 

“ De good Lord keep you safe, Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, 
tremblingly. “ You’se know I’d die for you in a minit ; but 
I’se couldn’t watch for a spook nohow,” and Hannibal crept 
away, looking as if the very worst had now befallen them. 

Edith was too weary and sad even to smile at the absurd 
superstition of her old servant, for with her practical, positive 
nature she could scarcely understand how even the most 
ignorant could harbor such delusions. She said to Laura, 
‘‘ Let me sleep till nine o’clock, and then I will watch till 
morning.” 

Laura did not waken her till ten. 

After Edith had shaken off her lethargy, she said, Why, 
Laura, you look ready to faint ! ” 

With a despairing little cry, Laura threw herself on the 
floor, and buried her face in her sister’s lap, sobbing, — 

“ I am ready to faint — body and soul. O Edie, Edie, 
what shall we do ? Oh that I were sure death was an eternal 
sleep, as some say ! How gladly I would close my eyes to- 
night and never wish to open them again ! My heart is 
ashes, and my hope is dead. And yet I am afraid to die, 
and more afraid to live. Ever since — Zell — went — the 
future has been- — a terror to me. Edith,” she continued, 
after a moment, in a low voice, that trembled and was full 
of dread-, Zell has not written — the silence of the grave 
seems to have swallowed her. He has not' married her ! ” 
and an agony of grief convulsed Laura’s slight frame. 

Edith’s eyes grew hard and tearless, and she said sternly, 

It were better the grave had swallowed her than such a 
gulf of infamy.” 

Laura suddenly became still, her sobs ceasing. Slowly 
she raised such a white, terror-stricken face, that Edith was 
startled. She had never seen her elder sister, once so stately 
and proud, then so apathetic, moved like this. 

'‘Edith,” she said, in an awed whisper, "what is there 


2/6 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


before us ? ZelFs flight, like a flash of lightning, has revealed 
to me where we stand, and ever since I have brooded over 
our situation, till it seems as if I shall go mad. There’s an 
awful gulf before us, and every day we are being pushed 
nearer to it ; ” and Laura’s large blue eyes were dilated with 
horror, as if she saw it. 

Mother is going to die,” she continued, in a tone that 
chilled Edith’s soul. Our money will soon be gone ; we 
then shall be driven away even from this poor shelter, out 
upon the streets — to New York, or somewhere. Edith, O 
Edith, don’t you see the gulf? What else is before us? ” 

“ Honest work is before me,” said Edith, almost fiercely. 
“I w’ill compel the world to give me a place entitled at 
least to respect.” 

Laura shook her head despairingly. “ You may struggle 
back and up to where you are safe. You are good and 
strong. But there are so many poor girls in the world like 
me, who are not good and strong ! Everything seems to 
combine to push a helpless, friendless woman towards that 
gulf. Poor rash, impulsive Zell saw it, and could not endure 
the slow, remorseless pressure, as one might be driven over 
a precipice, and one she loved seemed to stand ready to 
break the fall. I understand her stony, reckless face now.” 

“ O Laura, hush ! ” said Edith, desperately. 

I must speak,” she went on, in the same low voice, so 
full of dread, “ or my brain will burst. I have thought and 
thought, and seen that awful gulLgrow nearer and nearer, 
till at times it seemed as if I should shriek with terror. For 
two nights I have not slept. Oh ! why were we not taught 
something better than dressing and dancing, and those 
hollow, superficial accomplishments that only mock us now? 
Why were not my mind and body developed into something 
like strength ? I would gladly turn to the coarsest drudgery, 
if I could only be safe. But after what has happened no 


A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS. 2 // 

good people will have anything to do with us, and I am a 
feeble, helpless creature, that can only shrink and tremble 
as I am pushed nearer and nearer.” 

Edith seemed turning into stone, herself paralyzed by 
Laura’s despair. After a moment Laura continued, with a 
perceptible shudder in her voice, — 

“ There is no one to break my fall. O that I was not 
afraid to die ! That seems the only resource to such as I. 
If I could just end it all by becoming nothing — ” 

“ Laura, Laura,” cried Edith, starting up, “ cease your 
wild mad words. You are sick and morbid. You are more 
delirious than mother is. We can get work ; there are good 
people who will take care of us.” 

“ I have seen nothing that looks like it,” said Laura, in 
the same despairing tone. “ I have read of just such things, 
and I see how it all must end.” 

“ Yes, that’s just it,” said Edith, impatiently. “ You have 
read so many wild, unnatural stories of life that you are 
ready to believe anything that is horrible. Listen : I have 
over four hundred dollars in the bank.” 

How did you get it? ” asked Laura, quickly. 

“ I have followed mother’s suggestion, and mortgaged the 
j)lace.” 

Laura sank into a chair, and became so deathly white 
that Edith thought she would faint. At last she gasped, — 
Don’t you see ? Even you in your strength can’t help 
yourself. You are being pushed on, too. You said you 
would not follow mother’s advice again, because it always 
led to trouble. You said, again and again, you would not 
mortgage the place, and yet you have done it. Now it’s all 
clear. That mortgage will be foreclosed, and then we shall 
be turned out, and then — ” and she covered her face with 
her hands. “ Don’t you see,” she said, in a muffled tone, 
‘‘the great black hand reaching out of the darkness and 


2/8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


pushing us down and nearer? Oh that I wasn’t afraid to 
die ! ” 

Edith was startled. Even her positive, healthful nature 
began to yield to the contagion of Laura’s morbid despair. 
She felt that she must break the spell and be alone. By a 
strong effort she tried to speak in her natural tone and with 
confidence. She tried to comfort the desperate v/oman by 
endearing epithets, as if she were a child. She spoke or 
those simple restoratives which are so often and vainly pre- 
scribed for mortal wounds, sleep and rest. 

“Go to bed, poor child,” she urged. “All will look 
differently in the sunlight to-morrow.” 

But Laura scarcely seemed to heed her. With weak, 
uncertain steps she drew near the bed, and turned the light 
on her mother’s thin, flushed face, and stood, with clasped 
hands, looking wistfully at her. 

“Yes, my dear,” muttered Mrs. Allen in her delirium, 
“ both your father and myself would give our full approval 
to your marriage with Mr. Goulden.” The poor woman 
made watching doubly hard to her daughters, since she kept 
recalling to them the happy past in all its minutiae. 

Laura turned to Edith with a smile that was inexpressibly 
sad, and said, “ What a mockery it all is ! There seems 
nothing real in this world but pain and danger. Oh that I 
was not afraid to die ! ” 

“ Laura, Laura ! go to your rest,” exclaimed Edith, “ or 
you will lose your reason. Come ; ” and she half carried 
the poor creature to her room. “ Now, leave the door ajar,” 
she said, “ for if mother is worse I will call you.” 

Edith sat down to her weary task as a watcher, and never 
before, in all the sad preceding weeks, had her heart been 
so heavy, and so prophetic of evil. Laura’s words kept 
repeating themselves to her, and mingling with those of her 
mother’s delirium, thus strangely blending the past and the 


A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS. 2/9 

present. Could it be true that they were helpless in the 
hands of a cruel, remorseless fate, that was pushing them 
down ? Could it be true that all her struggles and courage 
would be in vain, and that each day was only bringing them 
nearer to the desperation of utter want? She could not 
disguise from herself that Laura’s dreadful words had a show 
of reason, and that, perhaps, the mortgage she had given 
that day meant that they would soon be without home or 
shelter in the great, pitiless world. But, with set teeth and 
white face, she muttered, — 

“ Death first.” 

Then, with a startled expression, she anxiously asked her- 
self ; “ Was that what Laura meant when she kept saying, 
‘ Oh, if I wasn’t afraid to die ! ’ ” She went to her sister’s 
door and listened. Laura’s movements within seemed to 
satisfy her, and she returned to the sick-room and sat down 
again. Putting her hand upon her heart, she murmured, — 
“ 1 am completely unnerved to-night. I don’t understand 
myself ; ” and she looked almost as pale and despairing as 
Laura. 

She was, in truth,'^in the midst of that “horror of great 
darkness ” that comes to so many struggling souls in a world 
upon which the shadow of sin rests so heavily. 


28 o 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XXVI, 


FRIEND AND SAVIOUR. 


NOWING of no other source of help than an earthly 



IV one, her thoughts reverted to the old Scotch people 
whom she had recently visited. Their sunlighted garden, 
and happy, homely life, their simple faith, seemed the best 
antidote for her present morbid tendencies. 

“ If the worst comes to the worst, I think they would take 
us in for a little while, till some way opened,” she thought. 
‘‘ Oh that I had their belief in a better life ! Then it wouldn’t 
seem so dreadful to suffer in this one. Why have I never 
read the ‘Gude Book,’ as they call it? But I never seemed 
to understand it ; still, I must say, that I never really tried 
to. Perhaps God is angry with us, and is punishing us for 
so forgetting Him. I would rather think that, than to feel so 
forgotten and lost sight of. It seems as if God didn’t see 
or care. It seems as if I could cling to the harshest father 
in the world, if he would only protect and help me. A God 
of wrath, that I have heard clergymen preach of, is not so 
dreadful to me as a God who forgets, and leaves His crea- 
tures to struggle alone. Our minister was so cold and 
philosophical, and presented a God that seemed so far off, 
that I felt there could never be anything between Him and 
me. He talked about a holy, infinite Being, who dwelt alone 
in unapproachable majesty ; and I want some one to stoop 
down and love and help poor little me. He talked about a 
religion of purity and good works, and love to our fellow- 


FRIEND AND SAVIOUR. 


281 


men. I don’t know how to work for myself, much less for 
others, and it seems as if nearly all my fellow- creatures' 
hated and scorned me, and I am afraid of them ; so I don’t 
aee what chance there is for such as we. If we had only 
remained rich, and lived on the avenue, such a religion 
wouldn’t be so hard. It seems strange that the Bible should 
teach him and old Malcom so differently. But I suppose 
he is wiser, and understands it better. Perhaps it’s the 
flowers that teach Malcom, for he always seems drawing 
lessons from them.” 

Then came the impulse to get the Bible and read it for 
herself. ‘‘ The impulse ! ” whence did it come? 

When Edith felt so orphaned and alone, forgotten even of 
God, then the Divine Father was nearest his child. When, 
in her bitter extremity, at this lonely midnight hour she 
realized her need and helplessness as never before, her great 
Elder Brother was waiting beside her. 

The impulse was divine. The Spirit of God was leading 
her as He is seeking to lead so many. It only remained for 
her to follow these gentle impulses, not to be pushed into 
the black gulf that despairing Laura dreaded, but to be led 
into the deep peace of a loving faith. 

She went down into the parlor to get the Bible that in her 
hands had revealed the falseness and baseness of Gus Elliot, 
and the thought flashed through her mind like a good omen, 
“ This book stood between me and evil once before.” She 
took it to the light and rapidly turned its pages, trying to 
find some clue, some place of hope, for she was sadly un- 
familiar with it. 

Was it her trembling fingers alone that turned the pages ? 
No ; He who inspired the guide she consulted guided her, 
for soon her eyes fell upon the sentence, — 

“ Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest.” 


282 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


The words came with such vivid power and meaning that 
she was startled, and looked around as if some one had 
spoken to her. They so perfectly met her need that it 
seemed they must be addressed directly to her. 

‘‘ Who was it that said these words, and what right had 
He to say them ? ” she queried eagerly, and keeping her 
finger on the passage as if it might be a clue out of some 
fatal labyrinth, she turned the leaves backward and read 
more of Him with the breathless interest that some poor 
burdened soul might have felt eighteen centuries ago in 
listening to a rumor of the great Prophet who had suddenly 
appeared with signs and wonders in Palestine. Then she 
turned and read again and again the sweet words that first 
arrested her attention.. They seemed more luminous and 
hope-inspiring every moment, as their significance dawned 
upon her like the coming of day after night. 

Her clear, positive mind could nev^er take a vague, dubious 
impression of anything, and with a long-drawn breath she 
said, with the emphasis of perfect conviction, — 

“ If He were a mere man, as I have been taught to be- 
lieve, He had no right to say these words. It would be a 
bitter, wicked mockery for man or angel to speak them. 
Oh, can it be that it was God Himself in human guise ? I 
could trust such a God.” 

With glowing cheeks and parted lips, she resumed her 
reading, and in her eyes was the growing light of a great 
hope. 

The upper room of that poor little cottage was becoming 
a grand and sacred place. Heaven, that honors the death- 
less soul above all localities, was near. The God who was 
not in the vast and gold-incrusted temple on Mount Moriah 
sat in humble guise at “Jacob’s well,” and said to one of 
His poor guilty creatures ; “ I that speak unto thee am He.” 
Cathedral domes and cross-tipped spires indicated the 


FRIEND AND SAVIOUR. 


283 


Divine presence on every hand in superstitious Rome, but it 
would seem that He was near only to a poor monk creeping 
up Pilate’s staircase. Though the wealth of the world 
should combine to build a colossal church, filling it with 
every sacred emblem and symbol, and causing its fretted 
roof to resound with unceasing choral service, it would not 
be such a claim upon the great Father’s heart as a weak, 
pitiful cry to Him from the least of His children. Though 
Edith knew it not, that Presence without which all temples 
are vain had come to her as freely, as closely, as truly as 
when it entered the cottage at Bethany, and Mary “ sat at 
Jesus’ feet and heard His word.” Even to her, in this night 
of trouble, in this stony wilderness of care and fear, as to 
God’s trembling servant of old, a ladder of light was let 
down from heaven, and on it her faith would climb up to the 
peace and rest that are above, and therefore undisturbed by 
the storms that rage on earth. 

But it is God’s way to make us free through truth. Christ, 
when on earth, did not deal with men’s souls as with their 
bodies. The latter He touched into instantaneous cure ; to 
the former He appealed with patient instruction and entreaty, 
revealing Himself by word and deed, and saying : In view 
of what I prove myself to be will you trust me? Will you 
follow me? 

In words which, though spoken so long ago, are still the . 
living utterances of the Spirit to every seeking soul, He was 
now speaking to Edith, and she listened with the wonder 
and hope that might have stirred the heart of some sorrow- 
ing maiden like herself, when His voice was accompanied 
by the musical chime of waves breaking on the shores of 
Galilee, or the rustle of winds through the gray olive leaves. 

Edith came to the source of all truth with a mind as fresh 
and unprejudiced as that of one who saw and heard Jesus 
for the first time, as, in his mission journe)^s, he entered some 


284 


I VII A T CAN SHE DO? 


little town of the Holy Land. She had never thought much* 
about Him, and had no strong preconceived opinions. She B 
was almost utterly ignorant of the creeds and symbols of S 
men, and Christ was not to her, as He is to so many, the H 
embodiment of a system and the incarnation of a doctrine ■ 
— a vague, half-realized truth. When she thought of Him S 
at all, it had been as a great, good man, the most famous V 
religious teacher in the past, whose life had nobly “ adorned Bl 
a tale and pointed a moral.” But this would not answer any 
more. “ What could a man, dead and buried centuries 
ago, do for me now?” she asked, bitterly. 

“ I want one who can with right speak these words, — 

“ ‘ Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden^ 
and I will give you rest.’ ” 

And as, with finger still clinging to this passage, she read 1 
of miracle and parable, now trembling almost under the 
“ Sermon on the Mount,” now tearful under the tender story JL 
of the prodigal, the feeling came in upon her soul like the ; 
rising tide, “ This was not mere man.” ^ 

Then, with an awe she had never felt before, she followed 
him to Gethsemane, to the High Priest’s palace, to Pilate’s 
judgment-hall, and thence to Golgotha, and it seemed to 
her one long “Via Dolorosa.” With white lips she mur- | 
mured, with the centurion, “Truly this man was the Son 
of God.” 

She was reading the wonderful story for the first time in » 
its true connection, and the Spirit of God was her guide and r 
teacher. When she came to Mary “ weeping without at the 1 
sepulchre,” her own eyes were streaming, and it seemed as I 
if she were weeping there herself. 

But when Jesus said, in a tohe perhaps never heard | 
before or since in this world, “ Mary,” it seemed that to 
herself He was speaking, and her heart responded, “ Rab- 
boni — Master.” 


FRIEND AND SAVIOUR. 285 

She Started up and paced the little room, thrilling with 
excitement. 

“ How blind I have been ! ” she exclaimed — how 
utterly blind ! Here I have been struggling alone all these 
weary weeks, witl> scarcely hope for this world and none 
for the next, when I might have had such a friend and 
helper all the time. Can I be deceived ? Can this sweet 
way of light out of our thick darkness be a delusion ? ” 

She went to where her little Bible lay open at the passage, 
“ Come unto me,” and bowing her head upon it, pleaded as 
simply and sincerely as the Syro- Phoenician mother pleaded 
for her child in the very presence of the human Saviour, — 
Jesus, I am heavily laden. I labor under burden? 
greater than I can bear. Divine Saviour, help me.” 

In answer she expected some vague exaltation of soul, ol 
an exquisite sense of peace, as the burden was rolled away. 

■ There was nothing of the kind, but only an impulse to go 
to Laura. She was deeply disappointed. She seemed to 
have climbed such a lofty height that she might almost look 
into heaven and confirm her faith forever, and only a simple 
earthly duty was revealed to her. Her excited mind, that 
had been expanding with the divinest mysteries, was re- 
acting into quietness, and the impression was so strong that 
she must go to Laura, that she thought her sister had been 
calling her, and she, in her intense preoccupation, had heard 
her as in a dream. 

Still keeping the little Bible in her hand, she went to 
Laura’s room. Through the partially open door she saw, 
with a sudden chill of fear, that the bed had not been slept 
in. Pushing the door open, she looked eagerly around with 
a strange dread growing upon her. Laura was writing at 
a table with her back towards the entrance. There was a 
strong odor of laudanum in the room, and a horrible thought 
blanched Edith’s cheek. Stealing with noiseless tread across 


286 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


the intervening space, with hand pressed upon her heart to 
still its wild throbbings, she looked over her sister’s shoulder, 
and followed the tracings of her pen with dilating eyes. 

“ Mother, Edith, farewell ! When you read these sad words I 
shall be dead. I fear death — I cannot tell you how I fear it, but 
I fear more that dreadful gulf which daily grows nearer. I must 
die. There is no other resource for a poor, weak woman like me. If 
I were only strong — if I had only been taught something — but I 
am helpless. Do not be too hard upon poor little Zell. Her eyes 
were blinded by a false love ; she did not see the black gulf as I see 
it. If God cares for what such poor forlorn creatures as I do, may 
He forgive. I have thought till my brain reels. I have tried to pray, 
but hardly knew what I was praying to. I don’t understand God — 
He is far off. The world scorns us. There is none to help. There 
is no other remedy save the drug at my side, which will soon bring 
sleep which I hope will be dreamless. Farewell ! 

“ Your poor, trembling, despairing 

“ LAURA.” 


Every sentence was written with a sigh that seemed as if it 
might be the last that the burdened soul could give, and 
every line was blotted with tears. Edith saw that the poor, 
thin face was pinched and wan with misery, and that the 
pallor of death had already blanched even her lips, and, with 
a shudder of horror, her eyes fell on a phial of laudanum at 
Laura’s left hand, from which she was partially turned away, 
in the act of writing. 

With an ecstatic thrill of joy, she now understood how her 
prayer had been answered. How could there have been 
rest — how could there have been peace — if this awful 
tragedy had been consummated? 

With one devout, grateful glance upward, she silently took 
away the fatal drug, and laid her Bible down in its place. 

Laura finished her letter, leaned back, and murmured a 
long, trembling, “ Farewell ! ” that was like a low, mournful 
vibration of an ^olian harp, when the night-breeze breathes 


FRIEND AND SAVIOUR. 


287 


Upon it. Then she pressed her right hand over her eyes, 
shuddered, and tremblingly put out her left for that which 
would end all. But, instead of the phial which she had 
^placed there but a little before, her hand rested upon a 
book. Startled, she opened her eyes, and saw not the 
dreaded poison, but in golden letters that seemed luminous 
to her dazzled sight : — 

Holy Bible. 

Though all had lasted but a brief moment, Edith’s power 
of self-control was gone. Dashing the bottle on the floor, 
where it broke into many fragments, she threw herself on 
her sister’s neck and sobbed, — 

“ O Laura, Laura ! your hand is on a better remedy. It 
has saved me — it can save you. It has shown me the 
Friend we need. He sent me to you ; ” and she clung 
to her sister in a rapture of joy, murmuring, with every 
breath, — 

“ Thanks, thanks, eternal gratitude ! I see how my 
prayer is answered now.” 

Laura, in her shattered condition, was too bewildered and 
feeble to do more than cling to Edith, with a blessed sense 
of being rescued from some great peril. A horrid spell 
seemed broken, and for some reason, she knew not why, life 
and hope were still possible. A torrent of tears seemed to 
relieve her of the dreadful oppression that had so long rested 
on her, and at last she faltered, — 

“ Who is this strange friend ? ” 

His name is Jesus — Saviour,” said Edith, in a low. 
reverential tone. 

“ I don’t quite understand,” said Laura, hesitatingly. 
“ I can only cling to you till I know Him.” 

“ He knows you, Laura, and loves you. He has never 
forgotten us. It was we who forgot Him. He sent me to 
you, just in time. Now put your hand on this bock, and 


288 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


promise me you will never think of such an awful thing 
again.” 

“ I promise,” said Laura, solemnly ; ‘‘ not if I am in my 
right mind. I don’t understand myself. You seem to have> 
awakened me from a fearful dream. I will do just what you 
tell me to.” 

“ O Laura, let us both try to do just what our Divine 
Friend tells us to do.” 

“ Perhaps, through you, I shall learn to know Him. I 
can only cling to you to-night,” said Laura, wearily. “ I am 
so tired,” and her eyes drooped as she spoke. 

With a sense of security came a strong reaction in her 
overtaxed nature. Edith helped her to bed as if she were 
a child, and soon she was sleeping as peacefully as one 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 


289 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 

E dith resumed her watching in her mother’s room. 
The invalid was still dvi^elling on the past, and her 
delirium appeared to Edith a true emblem of her old, unreal 
life. Indeed, it seemed to her that she had never lived 
before. A quiet, but divine exaltation, filled her soul. She 
did not care to read any more, but just sat still 'and thought, 
and her spiritual light grew clearer and clearer. 

Her faith was very simple, her knowledge very slight. 
• She was scarcely in advance of a Hebrew maiden who 
might have been one of the mournful procession passing out 
of the gates of Nain, when a Stranger, unknown before, re* 
vealed Himself by turning death into life, sorrow into joy. 
The eye of her faith was fastened on the distinct, living, 
loving personality of our human yet Divine Friend, who no 
longer seemed afar off, but as near as to that other burdened 
one who touched the hem of His garment. 

** He does not change, the Bible says,” she thought. “ He 
cannot change. Therefore He will help me, just as surely 
as He did the poor, suffering people among whom He lived.” 

It was but three o’clock, and yet the eastern sky was pale 
with dawn. At length her attention was gained by a faint 
but oft-repeated sound. It seemed to come from the direc- 
tion of the garden, and at once the mystery that so oppressed 
poor Hannibal occurred to her. She rose, and passed back 
to her own room, which overlooked the garden, and, through 


290 


rVHA T CAN SHE DO . 


the lattice, in the faint morning twilight, saw a tall, dusky 
figure, that looked much too substantial to be any such 
shadowy being as the old negro surmised, and the strokes of 
his hoe were too vigorous and noisy for ghostly gardening. 

“ It must be Arden Lacey,” thought Edith, “ but I will 
put this matter beyond all doubt. I don’t like this night 
work, either ; though for different reasons than those of poor 
Hannibal. We have suffered enough from scandal already, 
and henceforth all connected with my life shall be as open 
as the day. Then, if the world believes evil of me, it will 
be because it likes it best.” 

These thoughts passed through her mind while she hastily 
threw off her wrapper and dressed. Cautiously opening the 
back-door, she looked again. The nearer view and clearer 
light revealed to her Arden Lacey. She did not fear him, 
and at once determined to question him as to the motive of 
his action. He was but a little way off, and was tying up a 
grape-vine that had been neglected, his back being toward 
her. Edith had great physical courage and firmness natu- 
rally, and it seemed that on this morning she could fear 
nothing, in the strength of her new-born enthusiasm. 

With noiseless step she reached his side, and asked, almost 
sternly, — 

“ Who are you, sir ; and what does this action mean ? ” 

Arden started violently, trembled like the leaves in the 
morning wind, and turned slowly toward her, feeling more 
guilty and alarmed than if he had been playing the part of 
a burglar, instead of acting as her good genius. 

“ Why don’t you answer? ” she asked, in still more decided 
tones. ‘‘ By what right are you doing this work? ” 

Edith had lost faith in men. She knew little of Arden, 
and the thought flashed through her mind, “ This may be 
some new plot against us.” Therefore her manner was 
stern and almost threatening. 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 2g: 

Poor Arden was startled out of all self-control. Edith’s 
coming was so sudden and unexpected, and her pale face 
was so spirit-like, that for a moment he scarcely knew whether 
the constant object of his thoughts was really before him, or 
whether his strong imagination was only mocking him. 

Edith mistook his agitation and hesitancy as evidences of 
guilt, and he so far recovered himself as to recognise her 
suspicions. 

“ I will be answered. You shall speak the truth,” she 
said, imperiously. “ By what right are you doing this 
work?” 

Then his own proud, passionate spirit flamed up, and 
looking her unblenchingly in the face, he replied, — 

The right of my great love for you. Can I not serve 
my idol?” 

An expression of deep pain and repulsion came out upon 
Edith’s face, and he saw it. The avowal of his love was so 
abrupt — indeed it was almost stern ; and, coming thus from 
quite a stranger, who had little place even in her thoughts, 
it was so exceedingly painful, that it was like a blow. And 
yet she hardly knew how to answer him, for she saw in his 
open, manly face, his respectful manner, that he meant no 
evil, however he might err through ignorance or feeling. 

He seemed to wait for her to speak again, and his face, 
from being like the eastern sky, became very pale. From 
recent experience, and the teachings of the Patient One, 
Edith’s heart was very tender toward anything that looked 
like suffering, and though she deemed Arden’s feeling but 
the infatuation of a rude and ill-regulated mind, she could 
not be harsh, now that all suspicion of evil designs was ban- 
ished. Therefore she said quietly, and almost kindly, — 

“You have done wrong, Mr. Lacey. Remember I have 
no father or brother to protect me. The world is too ready 
to take up evil reports, and your strange action »nkht 1 e 


292 


W//A T CAN SHE DO ? 


misunderstood. All transactions with me must be like the 
sunlight.” 

With an expression of almost anguish, Arden bowed his 
head before her, and groaned, — 

“ Forgive me ; I did not think.” 

“ I am sure you meant no harm,” said Edith, with real 
kindness now in her tone. “ You would not knowingly make 
the way harder for a poor girl that has too much already to 
struggle against. And now, goodby. I shall trust to your 
sense of honor, assured that you will treat me as you would 
wish your own sister dealt with ; ” and she vanished, leaving 
Arden so overwhelmed with contending emotions that he 
could scarcely make his way home. 

An hour later Edith heard Hannibal’s step down stairs, 
and she at once joined him. The old man had aged in a 
night, and his face had a more worn and hopeless look than 
had yet rested upon it. He trembled at the rustle of her 
dress, and called, — 

“ Miss Edie, am dat you? ” 

Yes, you foolish old fellow. I have seen your spook, and 
ordered it not to come here again unless I send you for it.” 

“ O Miss Edie ! ” gasped Hannibal. 

“ It’s Arden Lacey.” 

Hannibal collapsed. He seemed to drop out of the realm 
of the supernatural to the solid ground of fact with a heavy 
thump. 

He sank into a chair, regarding her first with a blank, 
vacant face, which gradually became illumined with a know- 
ing grin. In a low, chuckling voice, he said, — 

‘‘ I jes declar to you I’se struck all of a heap. I jes done 
see whar de possum is dis minute. What an ole black fool 
I was, sure ’nuff. I tho’t he’se de mos ’bligin man I eber 
seed afore,” and he told her how Arden had served her in 
her illness. 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 


293 


She was divided between amusement and annoyance, the 
latter predominating. Hannibal concluded impressively, — 

“ Miss Edie, it must be lub. Nothin’ else dan dat which 
so limbered up my ole jints could get any livin’ man ober as 
much ground as he hoed dat night.” 

“Hush, Hannibal,” said Edith, with dignity; “and re- 
member that this is a secret between ourselves. Moreover, 
I wish you never to ask Mr. Lacey to do anything for us if 
it can possibly be helped, and never without my knowl- 
edge.” 

“ You knows well. Miss Edie, dat you’se only to speak and 
it’s done,” said Hannibal, deprecatingly. 

She gave him such a gentle, grateful look that the old man 
was almost ready to get down on his knees before her. 
Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, — 

“ What a good, faithful, old friend you are ! You don’t 
know how much I love you, Hannibal ; ” and she returned 
to her mother. 

Hannibal rolled up his eyes and clasped his hands, as if 
before his patron saint, saying, under his breath, — 

“ De idee of her lubing ole black Hannibal ! I could die 
dis blessed minute,” which was his way of saying, Nunc 
dimittis''* 

Laura slept quietly till late in the afternoon, and wakened 
as if to a new and better life. Her manner was almost child- 
like. She had lost all confidence in herself, and seemed to 
wish to be controlled by Edith in all things, as a little child 
might be. But she was very feeble. 

As the morning advanced Edith grew exceedingly weary. 
Reaction from her strong excitement seemed to bear her 
down in a weakness and lethargy that she could not resist, 
and by ten o’clock she felt that she must have some relief. 
It came from an unexpected source, for Hannibal appeared 
with a face of portentous solemnity, saying that Mrs. Lacey 


294 


WHA T CAN SHE DO? 


was down stairs, and that she wished to know if she could do 
something to help. 

The mother’s quick eye saw that something had deeply 
moved and was troubling her son. Indeed, for some time 
past, she had seen that into his unreal world had come a 
reality that was a source of both pain and pleasure, of fear 
and hope. While she followed him every hour of the day 
with an unutterable sympathy, she silently left him to open 
his heart to her in his own time and manner. But her ten- 
der, wistful manner told Arden that he was understood, and 
he preferred this tacit sympathy to any spoken words. But 
this morning the evidence of his mental distress was so ap- 
parent that she went to him, placed her hands upon his 
shoulders, and with her grave, earnest eyes looking straight 
into his, asked, — 

“ Arden, what can I do for you ? ” 

“ Mother,” he said, in a low tone, “ there are sickness and 
deep trouble at our neighbors’. Will you go to them again? ” 

“Yes, my son,” she replied, simply, “as soon as I can get 
ready.” 

So she arranged matters to stay if needed, and thus in 
Edith’s extremity she appeared. In view of Arden’s words, 
Edith hardly knew how to receive her or what to do. But 
when she saw the plain, grave woman sitting before her in 
the simple dignity of patient sorrow, her course seemed 
clear. She instinctively felt that she could trust this offered 
friendliness, and that she needed it. 

“ I have heard that your mother has been sick as well as 
yourself,” Mrs. Lacey said kindly but quietly. “ You look 
very worn and weary. Miss Allen ; and if I, as a neighbor, 
can watch in your place for a while, I think you can trust 
me to do so.” 

Tears sprang into Edith’s eyes, and she said, with sudden 
color coming into her pale face, “ You take noble revenge 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 


295 


for the treatment you have received from us, and I grate- 
fully submit to it. I must confess I have reached the lim^t 
of my endurance ; my sister is ill also, and yet mother needs 
constant attention.” 

“ Then I am very glad I came, and I have left things at 
home so I can stay,” and she laid aside her wraps with the 
air of one who sees a duty plainly and intends to perform it. 
Edith gave her the doctor’s instructions a little incoherently 
in her utter exhaustion, but the experienced matron under- 
stood all, and said, — 

“ I think I know just what to do. Sleep till you are well 
rested.” 

Edith went to her room, and, with her face where the 
sweet June air could breathe directly upon it through the 
open window, sleep came with a welcome and refreshing 
balm that she had never known before. Her last thought 
was, He will take care of me and mine.” 

She had left the door leading into the sick-room open, 
and Mrs. Lacey stepped in once and looked at her. The 
happy, trustful thought with which she had closed her eyes 
had left a faint smile upon her face, and given it a sweet 
spiritual beauty. 

‘‘ She seems very different from what I supposed,” mur- 
mured Mrs. Lacey. She is very different from what people 
are imagining her. Perhaps Arden, poor boy, is nearer right 
than all of us. Oh, I hope she is good, whether he ever 
marries her or not, for this love will be the saving or ruining 
of him.” 

When Edith awoke it was dark, and she started up in 
dismay, for she had meant to sleep but an hour or two. 
Having hastily smoothed her hair, she went to the sick- 
room, and found Laura reclining on the sofa, and talking in 
the most friendly manner to Mrs. Lacey. Her mother’s 
delirium continued, though it was more quiet, with snatches 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


296 

•of sleep intervening, but she noticed no one as yet. Mrs. 
Lacey sat calmly in her chair, her sad, patient face making 
the very ideal of a watcher, and yet in spite of her plain 
exterior there was a refinement, an air of self-respect, that 
would impress the most casual observer. As soon as Laura 
saw Edith she rose as quickly as her fe-^bleness permitted, 
and threw her arms around her sister, and there was an 
embrace whose warmth and meaning none but themselves, 
and the pitying eye of Him who saved, could understand. 
Then Edith turned and said, earnestly, — 

“ Truly, Mrs. Lacey, I did not intend to trespass on your 
kindness in this manner. I hope you will forgive me.” 

Nature knew what was best for you, Miss Allen, and you 
have not incommoded me at all. I made my plans to stay 
till nine o’clock, and then Arden will come for me.” 

“ Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, in his loud whisper, “ I’se 
got some supper for you down here.” 

Why did Edith go to her room and make a little better 
toilet before going down ? She hardly thought herself. It 
was probably a feminine instinct. As she took her last sip 
of tea there was a timid knock at the door. “ I will see 
him a moment,” she decided. 

Hannibal, with a gravity tha made poor Edith smile in 
her thoughts, admitted Arden Lacey. He was diffident but 
not awkward, and the color deepened in his face, ther left 
it very pale, as he saw Edith was present. Her pale cheek 
also took the faintest tinge of pink, but she rose quietly, and 
said, — 

Please be seated, Mr. Lacey. I will tell your mother 
you are here.” Then, as Hannibal disappeared, she added 
earnestly, I do appreciate your mother’s kindness, and — 
yours also. At the same time, too deep a sense of obliga- 
tion is^ painful ; you must not do so much for uSo Please 
do not misunderstand me.” 


THE MYSTERY SOL YE B. 


297 

! Arden had something f his mother’s quiet dignity, as he 
i rose and held out to Edith a letter, saying, — 
j “ Will you please read that — you need not answer it — 
I and then perhaps you will understand me better.” 

Edith hesitated, and was reluctant. 

“I may be doing wrong,” continued he, earnestly and 
with rising color. “ I am no; versed in the world’s ways ; 
but is it not my right to explain the rash words I uttered this 
morning? My good name is dear to me also. Few care 
for it, but I would not have it utterly blurred in your eyes. 
We may be strangers after you have read it, ^ you choose, 
but I entreat you to read it.” 

“ You will not feel hurt if I afterwards return it t you? ” 
asked Edith, timidly. 

“You may do with it what you please.” 

She then took the letter, and a moment later Mrs. Lacey 
appeared, and said, — 

“ I will sit up to-morrow night, with your permission.” 

Edith took her hand, and replied, “ Mrs. Lacey, you 
burden me with kindness.” 

“ It is not my wish to burden, but to relieve you. Miss 
Allen. I think I can safely say, from our slight acquaint- 
ance, that in the case of sickness or trouble at a neigh- 
bor’s, you would not spare yourself. We cease to be 
human when we leave the too-heavily burdened to struggle 
alone.” 

Edith’s eyes grew moist, and she said, simply, “ I cannot 
refuse kindness offered in that spirit, and may God bless you 
tor it. Good night.” 

Arden’s only parting was a grave, silent bow. 

Edith was soon alone again, watching by her mother. 
With some natural curiosity, she opened the letter that was 
written by one so different from any man that she had evei 
known before. Its opening, at le®st, was reassuring. 


298 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


“Miss Edith Allen; You need not fear that I shall offend 
again by either writing or speaking such rash words as those which' 
so deeply pained you this morning. They would not have been 
spoken then, perhaps never, had I not been startled out of my self- 
control — had I not seen that you suspected me of evil. I was very^ 
unwise, and I sincerely ask your pardon. But I meant no wrong, and j 
as you referred to my sister, I can say, before God, that I would shield 
you as I would shield her. 

“I know little of the conventionalities of the world. I live but a 
hermit’s life in it, and my letter may seem to you very foolish and 
romantic, still I know that my motives are not ignoble, and with this ^ 
consciousness I venture. 

“ Reverencing and honoring you as I do, I cannot bear that you 
should think too meanly of me. The world regards me as a sullen, 
stolid, bearish creature, but I have almost ceased to care for its 4 
opinion. I have received from it nothing but coldness and scorn, a^nd,| 
I pay my debt in like coin. But perhaps you can imagine why 
cannot endure that you should regard me in like manner. I would 4 
not have you think my nature a stony, sterile place, when something^ 
tells me that it is like a garden that needs only sunlight of some kind^^ 
My life has been blighted by the wrong of another, who should have ^ 
been my best helper. The knowledge and university culture fors 
which I thirsted were denied me. And yet, believe me, only my I] 
mother’s need — only the absolute necessity that she and my sister 
should have a daily protector, kept me from pushing out into the. a 
world, and trying to work my way unaided to better things. Sacred W 
duty has chained me down to a life that was outwardly most sordid j 
and unhappy. My best solace has been my mother’s love. But from \ 
varied, somewhat extensive, though perhaps not the wisest kind off i 
reading, I came to dwell in a brave, beautiful, but shadowy world, ; 
that I created out of books. I was becoming satisfied with it, not 
knowing any other. The real world mocked and hurt me on every 
side. It is so harsh and unjust that I hate it. I hate it infinitely 
more as I see its disposition to w und you, who have been so noble 
and heroic. In this dream of the past — in this unreal world of my 
own fancy, I was living when you came that rainy night. As I learned 
to know you somewhat, you seemed a beautiful revelation to me. I 
did not think there was such a woman in existence. My shadows 
vanished before you. With you living in the present, my dreams of 
the past ceased. I could not prevent your image from entering my 
lonely, empty heart, and taking its vacant throne, as if by divine right 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 299 

How could I ? How can I drive you forth now, when my whole being 
is enslaved ? 

“ But forgive me. Though thought and feeling are beyond control, 
outward action is not. I hope never to lose a mastering grasp on 
the rein of deeds and words ; and though I cannot understand how 
the feeling I have frankly avowed can ever change, I will try never,, 
by look or sign, to pain you with it again. 

“ And yet, with a diffidence and fear equalled only by my sincerity 
and earnestness, I would venture to ask one great favor. You said 
this morning that you already had too much to struggle against. The 
future has its possibilities of further trouble and danger. Will you 
not let me be your humble, ithful friend, serving you loyally, devot- 
edly, yet unobtrusively, and with all the delicate regard for your 
position which I am capable of showing, assured that I will gratefully 
accept any hints when I am wrong or presumptuous ? I would gladly 
serve you with your knowledge and consent. But serve you I must. 
I vowed it the night I lifted your unconscious form from the wharf, 
and gave you into Mrs. Groody’s care. There need be no reply. You 
have only to treat me not as an utter stranger when we next meet. 
You have only to give me the joy of doing something for you when 
opportunity offers. 

“ARDEN LACEY.” 

Edith’s eyes filled with tears before she finished this most 
unexpected epistle. Though rather quaint and stately in its 
diction, the passion of a true, strong nature so permeated it 
all, that the coldest and shallowest would have been moved. 
And yet a half-smile played upon her face at the same time,, 
like sunlight on drops of rain. 

“ Thank heaven ! ” she said, ‘‘ I know of one more true 
man in- the world, if he is a strange one. How different he 
is from what I thought ! I don’t believe there’s another in 
this place who could have written such a letter. What 
would a New York society man, whose compliments are as 
extravagant as meaningless, think of it? Truly he doesn’t 
know the world, and isn’t like it. I supposed him an awk- 
ward, eccentric young countryman, that, from his very ver- 
dancy, would be difficult to manage, and he writes to me 


300 


^V//A T CAN SITE DO ? 


like a knight of olden time, only such language seems 
Quixotic in our day. The foolish fellow, to idealiie poor 
despised, faulty Edith Allen into one of the grand heroines of - 
his interminable romances, and that after seeing me hoe my ^ 
garden like a Dutch woman. If I wasn’t so sad and he so !j 
earnest, I could laugh till my sides ached. There never was j| 
a more matter-of-fact creature than I am, and yet here an? [I 
I enveloped in a halo of impossible virtues and graces f 
If I were what he thinks me, I shouldn’t know myself, j 
Well, well, I must treat him somewhat like a boy, for 
such he really is, ignorant of himself and all the world. . 
When he comes to know me better, the Edith of his im- 
agination will vanish like his other shadows, and he will 
have another revelation that I am an ordinar}'’, flesh-and- 
blood girl.” 

With deepening color she continued : “So it was he who - 
lifted me up that night. Well, I am glad it was one who 
pitied me, and not some coarse, unfeeling man. It seems 
strange how circumstances have brought him who shuns and 
is shunned by all, into such a queer relationship to me. But 
heaven forbid that I should give him lessons as to the self- 
ish, matter-of-fact world. He will outgrow his morbidness 
and romantic chivalry with the certainty of years, and see- 
ing more of me will banish his absurd delusions in regard 
to me. I need his friendship and help — indeed it seems 
as if they were sent to me. It can do him no harm, and it 
may give me a chance to do him good. If any man ever 
needed a sensible friend, he does.” 

Therefore Edith wrote him : — 

It is very kind of you to offer friendship and help to one situated 
like myself, and I gratefully grant what you rather oddly call ‘a 
favor.' At the same time, if you ever find such friendliness a pain 
or trouble to you in any way, I shall in no degree blame you for with- 
drawing it.” 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 


301 


The “ friendship ” and “ friendliness ” were underscored, 
thus delicately hinting that this must be the only relation. 

'‘There,” she said, “all his chains will now be of his own 
forging, and I shall soon demolish the paragon he is dream- 
ing over.” 

She laid both letters aside, and took down her Bible with 
a little sigh of satisfaction. 

“His lonely, empty heart,” she murmured; “ah, that is 
the trouble with all. He thinks to fill his with a vain dream 
of me, as others do with as vain a dream of something else. 
I trust I have learned of One here who can fill and satisfy 
mine ; ” and soon she was again deep in the wondrous story, 
so old, so new, so all-absorbing to those from whose spirit- 
ual eyes the scales of doubt and indifference have fallen. 
As she read she saw, not truths about Jesus, but Him, and 
at His feet her heart bowed in stronger faith and deeper 
love every moment. 

She had not even thought whether she was a Christian or 
not. She had not even once put hei finger on her spiritual 
pulse, to gauge the evidences of her faith. A system of 
theology would have been unintelligible to her. She could 
not have defined one doctrine so as to have satisfied a 
sound divine. She had not even read the greater part of 
the Bible, but, in her bitter extremity, the Spirit of God, 
employing the inspired guide, had brought her to Jesus, as 
the troubled and sinful were brought to Him of old. He 
had given her rest. He had helped her save her sister, 
and with childlike confidence she was just looking, lov- 
ingly and trustingly, into His divine face, and He was smil- 
ing away all her fear and pain. She seemed to feel sure 
that her mother would get well, that Laura would grow 
stronger, that they would all learn to know Him, and would 
be taken care of. 

As she read this evening she came to that passage of 


302 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


exquisite pathos, where the purest, holiest, manhood said to ^ 
a woman of the city, which was a sinner,” 

“ Thy sins are forgiven. Go in peace.” 

Instantly her thoughts reverted to Zell, and she was deeply 
moved. Could she be forgiven? Could she be saved? 
Was the God of the Bible — stern, afar off, as she had once 
imagined — more tender toward the erring than even their 
own human kindred? Could it be possible that, while she 
had been condemning, and almost hating Zell, Jesus had 
been loving her? 

The feeling overpowered her. Closing the book, she 
leaned her head upon it, and, for the first time, sobbed and 
mourned for Zell with a great, yearning pity. 

Every such pitiful tear, the world over, is a prayer to 
God. It mingles with those that flowed from His yes as 
He wept over the doomed city that would not receive Him. 

It mingles with that crimson tide which flowed from His ' 
hands and feet when He prayed, — 

“ Father, forgive them ; for they know not what they do.” 


EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY, 303 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

M rs. Allen seemed better the next day, and Laura was 
able to watch while Edith slept. After tea Mrs. 
Lacey appeared, with the same subdued air of quiet self- 
respect and patient sorrow. She seemed to have settled 
down irlto that mournful calm which hopes little and fears 
little. She seemed to expect nothing better than to go for- 
ward, with such endurance as she might, into the deeper 
shadows of age, sickness, and death. She vaguely hoped 
that God would have mercy upon her at last, but how to 
love and trust Him she did not know. She hardly knew 
that it was expected, or possible. She associated religion 
with going to church, outward profession, and doing much 
good.. The neighbors spoke of her and the family as “ very 
irreligious,” and she had about come to the conclusion that 
they were right. She never thought of taking credit to her- 
self for her devotion to her children and patience with her 
husband. She loved the former, especially her son, with an 
intensity that one could hardly reconcile with her grave and 
silent ways. In regard to her husband, she tried to remem- 
ber her first young girlish dream — the manly ideal of char- 
acter that her fond heart had associated with the handsome 
young fellow who had singled her out among the many 
envious maidens in her native village. 

“ I will try to be true to what I thought he was,” she said, 
with woman’s pathetic constancy, “ and be patient with what 
he is.” 


304 


WHAT CAN SHE DO? 


But the disappointment, as it slowly assumed dread cer- 
tainty, broke her heart. 

Edith began to have a fellow-feeling for her. We both 
have not only our own burdens to carry, but the heavier 
burden of another,” she thought. ‘‘ I wonder it she has 
ever gone to Him for the ‘ rest.’ I fear not, or she would 
not look so sad and hopeless.” 

Before they could go upstairs a hack from the hotel 
stopped at the door, and Mrs. Groody bustled cheerily in. 
Laura at the same time came down, saying that Mrs. Allen 
was asleep. 

“ Hannibal,” said Edith, “ you may sit on the stairs, and 
if she wakes, or makes any sound, let me know,” and she 
took a seat near the door in order to hear. 

“ I’ve been worryin’ about you every minute ever since 
I called, and you was too sick to see me,” said Mrs. Groody, 
“but I’ve been so busy I couldn’t get away. It takes an 
awful lot of work to get such a big house to rights, and the 
women cleanin’, and the servants are so aggravatin’, that I 
am just run off my legs lookin’ after them. I don’t see why 
people can’t do what they’re told, when they’re told.” 

“ I wish I were able to help you,” said Edith. “ Youi 
promise of work has kept me up wonderfully. But before I 
half got my strength back mother became very ill, and, had 
it not been for Mrs. Lacey, I don’t know what I should have 
done. It did seem as if she were sent here yesterday, for I 
could not have kept up another hour.” 

“ You poor child,” said Mrs. Groody, in a tone and man* 
ner overflowing with motherly kindness. “ I just heard 
about it to-day from Arden, who was bringin’ something up 
to the hotel, so I said, ‘ I’ll drop everything to-night, and run 
down for a while.’ So here I am, and now what can I do 
for you ? ” concluded the warm-hearted woman, whose 
invariable instinct was to put her sympathy into deeds. 


EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY. 305 

“ I told you that night,” said Edith. “ I think I could do 
a little sewing or mending even now if I had it here at 
home. But your kindness and remembrance do me more 
good than any words of mine can tell you. I thought no 
one would ever speak to us again,” she continued in a low 
tone, and with rising color, “ and I have had kind, helpful 
friends sent to me already.” 

Wistful mother-love shone in Mrs. Lacey’s large blue eyes, 
but Mrs. Groody blew her nose like a trumpet, and said, — 

“ Not speak to you, poor child ! Though I ain’t on very 
good terms with the Lord, I ain’t a Pharisee, and after what 
I saw of you that night, I am proud to speak to you and do 
anything I can for you. It does seem too bad that poor 
young things like you two should be so burdened. I should 
think you had enough before without your mother gettin’ 
sick. I don’t understand the Lord, no how. Seems to me 
He might scatter His afflictions as well as His favors a little 
more evenly. I’ve thought a good deal about what you said 
that night, ‘ We’re dealt with in masses,’ and poor bodies 
like you and me, and Mrs. Lacey there, that is, ‘ the human 
atoms,’ as you called ’em, are lost sight of.” 

Tears sprang into Edith’s eyes, and she said, earnestly, 
I am sorry I ever said those words. They are not true. I 
should grieve very much if my rash, desperate words did 
you harm after all your kindness to me. I have learned 
better since’ I saw you, Mrs. Groody. We are not lost sight 
of. It seems to me the trouble is we lose sight of Plim.” 

Well, well, child. I’m glad to hear you talk in that way,” 
said Mrs. Groody, despondently. “ I’m dreadfully dis- 
couraged about it all. I know I fell from grace, though, 
one awfully hot summer, when everything went wrong, and 
I got on a regular rampage, and that’s the reason perhaps. 
A she-bear that had lost her cubs wasn’t nothin’ to me. 
But I straightened things out at the hotel, though I came 


WffA T CAN SHE DO ? 


306 

mighty near bein’ sick, but I never could get straight mysell 
after it. I knowed I ought to be more patient — I knowed 
it all the time. But human natur is human natur, and 
woman natur is worse yet sometimes. And when you’ve 
got on one hand a score or two of drinkin’, quarrelsome, 
thievin’, and abominably lazy servants to manage, and on 
the other two or three hundred fastidious people to please, 
and elegantly dressed ladies who can’t manage their three 
or four servants at home, dawdlin’ up to you every hour in 
the day, sayin’ about the same as, Mrs. Groody, everything 
ain’t done in a minute — everything ain’t just right. I’d like 
to knowf where ’tis in this jumbled-up world — not where 
they’re housekeepers, I warrant you. 

“Well, as I was tellin’ you,” continued Mrs. Groody, with 
a weary sigh, “ that summer was too much for me. I got to 
be a very dragon. I hadn’t time to read my Bible, or pray, 
or go to church, or scarcely eat or sleep. I worked Sundays 
and week-days alike, and I got to be a sort of heathen, and 
I’ve been one ever since,” and a gloom seemed to gather on 
her naturally open, cheery face, as if she feared she might 
never be anything else. 

Mrs. Lacey gave a deep, responsive sigh, showing that 
her heavy heart was akin to all other burdened souls. But 
direct, practical Edith said simply and gently, — 

“ In other words you were laboring and heavy laden.” 

“Couldn’t have been more so, and lived,” was Mrs. 
Groody’s emphatic answer. 

“And the memory of it seems to have been a heavy 
burden on your conscience ever since, though I think you 
judge yourself harshly,” continued Edith. 

“ Not a bit,” said Mrs. Groody sturdily, “ I knowed better 
all the time.” 

“ Well, be that as it may, I feel that I know very little 
about these things yet. I’m sure I want to be guided 


EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY. 307 


tightly. But what did our Lord mean when He said, 

‘ Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I 
will give you rest ’ ? ” 

Mrs. Groody gave Edith a sort of surprised and startled 
look. After a moment she said, “ Bless you, child, how 
plain you do put it ! It’s a very plain text when you think 
of it, now, ain’t it? I always tho’t it meant kind o’ good, 
as all the Bible does.” 

“ No, but He said them,” urged Edith, earnestly. “ It is 
a distinct, plain invitation, and it must have a distinct, plain 
meaning. I have learned to know that when you or Mrs. 
Lacey say a thing, you mean what you say, and so it is with 
all who are sincere and true. Was He not sincere and 
true? If so, these plain words must have a plain meaning. 
He surely couldn’t have meant them only for the few people 
who heard His voice at that time.” 

“ Of course not,” said Mrs. Groody, musingly, while poor 
Mrs. Lacey leaned forward with such an eager, hungry look 
in her poor, worn face, that Edith’s heart yearned over her. 
Laura came and sat on the floor by her sister’s chair, and 
leaning her elbow on Edith’s knee, and her face on her 
hand, looked up with the wistful, trustful, child-like expres- 
sion that had taken the place of her former stateliness and 
subsequent apathy. Edith lost all thought of herself in her 
eagerness to tell the others of the Friend and Helper she 
had come to know. 

“ He must be God, or else He had no right to say to a 
great, troubled, sinning world, ‘ Come unto me.’ The idea 
of a million people going at once, with their sorrows and 
burdens, to one mere man, or an angel, or any finite crea- 
ture ! And just think how many millions there are ! If the 
Bible is for all, this invitation is for all. He couldn’t have 
changed since then, could He? He can’t be different in 
heaven from what He was on earth?” 


3o8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


‘‘ No,” said Mrs. Groody, quickly, ‘‘ for the Bible says 
He is ‘ the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.’ ” 

“ I never read in that place,” said Edith, simply. That 
makes it clearer and stronger than ever. Please, don’t 
think I am setting myself up as a religious teacher. I know 
very little yet myself. I am only seeking the light. But 
one thing is settled in my mind, and I like to have one 
thing settled before I go on to anything else. This one 
thing seems the foundation of everything else, and it appears 
as if I could go on from it and learn all the rest. I am 
satisfied that this Jesus is God, and that He said, ‘ Come 
unto me,’ to poor, weak, overburdened Edith Allen. I 
went to Him, just as people in trouble used to, when He 
first spoke these words. And oh, how He has helped me ! ” 
continued Edith, with tears in her eyes, but with the glad 
light of a great hope again shining through them. “ The 
world can never know all that He has done for us, and I 
can’t even think of Him without my heart quivering with 
gratitude.” 

Laura had now buried her face in her sister’s lap, and 
was trembling like a leaf. Edith’s words had a meaning to 
her that they could not have for the others. 

“And now,” concluded Edith, “I was led to Him by 
these words, ‘ Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest.’ I was in greater darkness 
than I had ever been in before. My heart ached as if it 
would burst. Difficulty and danger seemed on every side, 
and I saw no way out. I knew the world had only scorn 
for us, and I was so bowed down with shame and discour- 
agement that I almost lost all hope. I had been to the 
village, and the people looked and pointed at me, till I was 
ready to drop in the street. But I went to Mr. McTrump’s, 
and he and his wife were so kind to me, and heartened me 
up a little ; and they spoke about the ‘ Gude Book,’ as they 


EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY, 309 


call it, in such a way as made me think of it in my deep 
distress and fear, as I sat alone watching with mother. So 
I found my neglected Bible, and, in some way, I seemed 
guided to these words, ' Come unto me ; ’ and then, for two 
or three hours, I continued to read eagerly about Him, till 
at last I felt that I could venture to go to Him. So, I just 
bowed my head, on His own invitation ; indeed, it seemed 
like a tender call to a child that had been lost in the dark, 
and was afraid, and I said, ‘ I am heavy laden, help me.’ 
And how wonderfully He did help me ! He has been so 
good, so near, ever since. My weary, hopeless heartache is • 
gone. I don’t know what is before us. I can’t see the way 
out of our troubles. I don’t know what has become of our 
absent one,” she said, in a low tone and with bowed head, 

but I c.in leave all to Him. He is God : He loves, and He 
can and will take care of us. So you see I know very little 
about religion yet ; just enough to trust and keep close to 
Him ; and I feel sure that in time He will teach me, through 
the Bible, or in some way, all I ought to know.” 

“ Bless the child, she’s right, she’s right. ’ sobbed Mrs. 
Groody. “ It was just so at first. He came right among 
people, and called all sorts to Him, and they came to Him 
just as they was, and stayed with Him, and He cured, and 
helped, and taught ’em, till, from being the worst, they 
became the best. That is the way that distressed, swearin’, 
old fisherman Peter became one of the greatest and best 
men that ever lived ; though it took a mighty lot of grace 
and patience to bring it about. Now I think of it, I think 
he fell from grace worse than I did that awfully hot summer. 
What an old fool I am ! I’ve been readin’ the Bible all my 
life, and never understood it before.” 

“ I think that if you had gone to Him that time when you 
were so troubled and overburdened He would have helped 
you,” said Edith, gently. 


310 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


'^Yes, but there it is, you see,” said Mrs. Groody, wiping 
her eyes and shaking her head despondently, “ I didn’t go.” 

“ But you are heavy laden now. I can see it. You can 
go now,” said Edith, earnestly. 

I’m afraid I’ve put it off too long,” said Mrs. Groody, 
settling back into something of her old gloom. “ I’m afraid 
I’ve sinned away my time.” 

With a strange blending of pathos and reproach in her 
tone, Edith answered, — 

“ Oh, how can you, with your big, kind heart, that yearned 
over a poor unknown girl that dreadful night when you | 
brought me home — how can you think so poorly of your J 
Saviour? Is your heart warmer — are your sympathies j 
larger than His ? Why, He died for us, and, when dying, ^ 
prayed for those who crucified Him. Could you turn away ! 
a poor, sorrowing, burdened creature that came pleading to 
you for help ? You know you couldn’t. Learn from your 
own heart something of His. Listen, I haven’t told you all. 

It seems as if I never could tell all about Him. But see 
how He feels about poor lost Zell, when I, her own sister, 
was almost hating her,” and, reaching her hand to the table, 
she took her Bible and read Christ’s words to a woman of 
the city, which was a sinner.” 

At this Mrs. Groody broke down completely, and with 
clasped hands and streaming eyes, cried, — 

I will go to Him ; I will fear and doubt no more.” 

A trembling hand was now laid on Edith’s shoulder, and 
looking up, she saw Mrs. Lacey standing by her side with 
face so white, so eager, so full of Unutterable longing, that 
might have made a Christian artist’s ideal of a soul famish- 
ing for the ‘‘ Bread of Life.” In a low, timid, yet thrilling 
tone, she asked, — 

“ Miss Allen, do you think He would receive such as ‘ 
me?” 


EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY. 311 


“ Yes, thus,” cried Edith, as with a divine impulse and 
a great yearning pity she sprang up and threw her arms 
around Mrs. Lacey. 

Hope dawned in the poor worn face like the morning. 
Belief in God’s love and sympathy seemed to flow into her 
sad heart from the other human heart that was pressed 
against it. The spiritual electric circle was completed — 
Edith, with her hand of faith in God’s, took the trembling, 
groping hand of another and placed it there also. 

Two great tears gathered in Mrs. Lacey’s eyes, and she 
bowed her head for a moment on Edith’s shoulder, and 
murmured, “ I’ll try — I think I may venture to Him.” 

Hannibal now appeared at the door, saying, rather huskily 
and brokenly, considering his message, — 

“Miss Edie, you’se mudder’s awake, an ’d like some 
water.” 

“ That’s what we all have been wanting, ^ water ’ — ‘ the 
water of life,’ ” said Mrs. Groody, wiping her eyes, “ and 
never was my parched old heart so refreshed before. I 
don’t care how hot this summer is, or how aggravatin’ things 
are, I feel as if I’d be helped through it. And, my dear, 
good night. I come here to try to do you good, and you’ve 
done me more good than I ever thought could happen 
again. I’m goin’ to kiss you — I can’t help it. Goodby, 
and may the good Lord bless your sweet face ; ” and Mrs. 
Groody, like one of old, climbed up into her chariot, and 
“ went on her way rejoicing.” 

In their close good-night embrace, Laura whispered, “ I 
begin to understand it a little now, Edie, but I think I see 
everything only through your eyes, not my own.” 

“ As old Malcom said to me the other day; so now I say 
to you, ‘ Ye’ll learn it a’ soon.* ” 

Edith soon retired to rest also, and Mrs. Lacey sat at 
Mrs. Allen’s side, returning the sick woman’s slights and 


312 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


scorn, somewhat as the patient God returns ours, by watch- 
ing over her. 

Her eyes, no longer cast down with the pathetic discour- 
agement of the past, seemed looking far away upon some 
distant scene. She was following in her thoughts the steps 
of the Magi from the East to where, as yet far distant, the 
“ Star of Bethlehem ” glimmered with promise and hope. 


HANNIBAVS HEART TO BE WHITE. 313 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE WHITE. 

HEN Edith rose the next morning she found Laura 



V V only at her mother’s bedside. Mrs. Lacey had gone 
home quite early, saying that she would soon come again. 
Mrs. Allen’s delirium had passed away, leaving her exceed- 
ingly weak, but the doctor said, at his morning call, — 

• “ With quiet and good nursing she will slowly regain her 
usual health.” 

After he was gone, Laura said : Taking care of mother 
will now be my work, Edie. I feel a good deal stronger. 
I’ll doze in a chair during the '^ay, and I am a light sleeper 
at night, so I don’t think we shall need any more watchers. 
Poor Mrs. Lacey works hard at home, I am sure, and I don’t 
want to trespass on her kindness any longer. So if Mrs. 
Groody sends you work you may give all your time to it.” 

And early after breakfast quite a bundle did come from 
the hotel, with a scrawl from the housekeeper: “You may > 
mend this linen, my dear, and I’ll send for it to-morrow 
night.” 

Edith’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the work as they 
never had over the costliest gifts of jewelry. Sitting down 
in the airy parlor, which no longer kept in state for possible 
callers, she put on her thimble, and, with a courage and 
heroism greater than those of many a knight drawing for the 
first time his ancestral sword, she took her needle and joined 
the vast army of sewing-women. Lowly was the position 


314 


WffA T CAN SHE DO ? 


and work first assigned to her — only mending coarse linen. 
And yet it was with a thrill of gratitude and joy, and a stronger 
hope than she had yet experienced, that she sat down to the 
first real work for which she would be paid, and in her 
exultation she brandished her little needle at the spectres |! 
want and fear, as a soldier might his weapon. I 

Hannibal stood in the kitchen regarding her with moist | 
eyes and features that twitched nervously. i 

“ O Miss Edie, I neber tho’t you’d come to dat.” |; 

“ It’s one of the best things I’ve come to yet,” said Edith, i 
cheerily. “ VVe shall be taken care of, Hannibal. Cheer i 
up your faithful old heart. Brighter days are coming.” 

But, for some reason, Hannibal didn’t cheer up, and he 
stood looking very wistfully at Edith. At last he com- I 
menced, — 

‘‘ It does my ole black heart good to hear you talk so, . 
Miss Edie, — ” 

“ Why do you persist in calling your heart black ? It’s no 
such thing,” interrupted Edith. 

“Yes, ’tis. Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, despondently, 

“ I’se know ’tis. I’se black outside, and I allers kinder feel 
dat I’se more black inside. Neber felt jes right here yet. 
Miss Edie,” said the old man, laying his hand on his breast. 

“ I come de nighest to ’t de toder day when you said you 
lubbed me. Dat seemed to go down deep, but not quite to 
whar de trouble stays all de time. 

“ But, Miss Edie,” continued he in a whisper, “ I’se hope 
you’ll forgive me, but I couldn’t help listenin’ to you last 
night. I neber heerd such talk afore. It seemed to broke 
my ole black heart all up, and made it feel like de big ribers 
down souf in de spring, when dey jes oberflow eberyting, 

I says to myself, dat’s de Friend Miss Edie say she’se gwine 
to tell me ’bout. And now. Miss Edie, would you mind 
tellin’ me little ’bout Him? Cause if He’s your Friend, I’d 


HANNIBAVS I/EABT TO BE WHITE. 


315 


t’ink a heap of Him, too. Not dat I specs He’s gwine to 
bodder wid dis ole niggah, but den I’d jes like to hear ’bout 
Him a little.” 

Edith laid down her work, and turned her glorious dark 
eyes, brimming over with sympathy, on the poor old fellow, 
as he stood in the doorway fairly trembling with the excess 
of his feeling. 

“ Come and sit down here by me,” she said. 

“ O Miss Edie, I’se isn’t — ” 

“ No words — come.” 

Hannibal crouched down on a divan near. 

What makes you think He wouldn’t bother with' you ? ” 
Well, I’se don’t know ’zactly. Miss Edie. I’se only 
Hannibal.” 

“ Hannibal,” said Edith, earnestly, you are the best man 
I know in all the world.” 

“ Oh, Lor bless you. Miss Edie, how you talk ! you’se jes 
done gone crazy.” 

“ No, I haven’t. I never spoke in more sober earnest. 
You are faithful and true, unselfish and patient, and abound 
in the best material of which men are made. I admit,” she 
added, with a twinkle in her eye, “ that one very common 
element of manhood, as I have observed it, is dreadfully 
lacking, that is conceit. I wish I were as good as you are, 
Hannibal.” 

“ O Miss Edie, don’t talk dat way, you jes done discour- 
ages me. If you’d only say, Hannibal, you’se sick, but I’se 
got a mighty powerful medicine for you ; if you’d only say, 
I know you isn’t good ; I know your ole heart is black, but I 
know a way to make it white, I’d stoop down and kiss de 
ground you walks on. Dere’s sumpen wrong here. Miss 
Edie,”’ said he, laying his hand on his breast again, and 
shaking his head, with a tear in the corner of each eye, “ I 
tells you dere’s sumpen wrong. I don’t know jes what ’tis. 


3i6 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


My heart’s like a baby a cryin’ for it doesn’t know what 
Den it gits jes like a stun, as hard and as heavy. I don’t 
understan’ my ole heart ; I guess it’s kinder sick and wants a 
doctor, ’cause it don’t work right. But dere’s one ting I 
does understan’. It ’pears dat it would be a good heaven 
’nuff if I’se could allers be waitin’ on you alls. But Massa 
Allen’s gone ; Miss Zell, poor chile, is gone ; and I’se growin’ 
ole. Miss Edie, I’se growin’ ole. De wool is white, de jints 
are stiff, and de feet tired. Dey can’t tote dis ole body 
roun’ much longer. Where am I gwine. Miss Edie ? What’s 
gwine to become of ole Hannibal ? I’se was allers afeard of 
de dark. If I could only find you in de toder world and wait 
on you, dat’s all I ask, but I’se afeard I’ll get lost, it seems 
such a big, empty place.” 

“ Poor old Hannibal ! Then you are ‘ heavy laden ’ too,” 
said Edith, gently. 

Indeed I is. Miss Edie ; ’pears as if I couldn’t stan’ it 
anoder minute. And when I heerd you talkin’ about dat 
Friend last night, and tellin’ how good He was to people, 
and He seemed to do you such a heap of good, I thought dat 
I would jes like to hear little ’bout Him.” 

‘‘Wait till I get my Bible,” said Edith. 

“ Bless you. Miss Edie, you’se needn’t stop your work. 
You can jes tell me anyting dat come into you’se head.” 

“ Then I wouldn’t be like Him, Hannibal. He used to 
stop and give the kindest and most patient attention to every 
one that came to Him, and, as far as I can make out, the 
poorer they were, the more sinful and despised they seemed, 
the more attention He gave to them.” 

“ Dat’s mighty quar,” said Hannibal, musingly, “ not a bit 
like de big folks dat I’se seen.” 

“ I don’t understand it all myself yet, Hannibal. But the 
Bible tells me that He was God come down to earth to save 
the world. He says to the lost and sinful — to all who are 


HANNIBATS HEART TO BE WHITE. 


317 


poor and needy — in brief, to the heavy laden, ‘ Come unt% 
me.’ So I went to Him, Hannibal, and you can go just as 
well.” 

The old man’s eyes glistened, but he said, doubtfully, 
“ Yes, but den you’se Miss Edie, and I’se only black Hanni- 
bal. I wish we’d all lived when He was here. I might 
have shine His boots, and done little tings for Him, so He’d 
say, ‘Poor ole Hannibal, you does as well as you knows 
how. I’ll ’member you, and you sha’n’t go away in de 
dark.’ ” 

Edith smiled and cried at the same time over the quaint 
pathos of the simple creature’s words, but she said, earnestly, 
“ You need not go away in the dark, for He said, ‘ I am the 
light of the world,’ and if you go to Him you will always be 
in the light.” 

“ I’d go in a minute,” said Hannibal, eagerly, “ if I only 
know’d how, and wasn’t afear’d.” Then, as if a sudden 
thought struck him, he asked, “ Miss Edie, did He eber hab 
anyting to do wid a black man? ” 

Edith was so unfamiliar with the Bible that she could not 
lecall any distinct case, but she said, with the earnestness 
of such full belief on her part, that it satisfied his child-like 
mind, “1 am sure He did, for all kinds of people — people 
that no one else would touch or look at — came to Him, or 
He went to them, and spoke so kindly to them and forgave 
all their sins.” 

“ Bress Him, Miss Edie, dat kinder sounds like what I 
wants.” 

Edith thought a moment, and, with her quick, logical 
mind, sought to construct a simple chain of truth that would 
bring to the trusting nature she was trying to guide the 
perfect assurance that Jesus’ love and mercy embraced him 
as truly as herself. 

They made a beautiful picture that moment ; she with her 


3i8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


hands, that had dropped all earthly tasks for the sake of this 
divine work, clasped in her lap, her lustrous eyes dewy with 
sympathy and feeling, looking far away into the deep blue 
of the June sky, as if seeking some heavenly inspiration; 
and quaint old Hannibal, leaning forward in his eagerness. 



utterances. 


It was a picture of the Divine Artist’s own creation. He 
had inspired the faith in one and the questioning unrest in 
the other. He, with Edith’s lips, as ever by human lips, 
was teaching the way of life. Glorious privilege, that our 
weak voices should be as the voice of God, telling the lost 
and wandering where lies the way to life and home ! The 
angels leaned over the golden walls to watch that scene, 
while many a proud pageant passed unheeded. 

“ Hannibal,” said Edith, after her momentary abstraction, 
“God made every thing, didn’t He?” 

“ Sartin.” 

“ Then He made you, and you are one of His creatures, 
are you not? ” 

“ Sartin I is. Miss Edie.” 

“ Then see here what is in the Bible. Almost the last 
thing He said to His followers before He went up into 
heaven, was, ‘ Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel 
to every creature.’ Gospel means ‘ good news,’ and the 
good news was, that God had come down from heaven and 
become a man, so we wouldn’t be afraid of Him, and that 
He would take away their sins and save all who would let 
Him. Now, remember. He didn’t send His preachers to 
the white people, nor to the black people, but to all the 
world, to every creature alike, and so He meant you and 
me, Hannibal, and you as much as me. I am just as sure 
He will receive you as that He received me.” 

“Dat’s ’nuff. Miss Edie, Ok Hannibal can go too. And 


HANAr/BAVS HEABT TO BE WHITE. 319 

I’se a gwine, Miss Edie, I’se a gwine right to Him. Dere’s 
only one ting dat troubles me yet. What is I gwine to do 
wid my ole black heart? I know dere’s sumpen wrong 
wid it. It’s boddered me all my life.” 

“O Hannibal,” said Edith, eagerly, “ I was reading some- 
thing last night that I think will just suit you. I thought I 
would read a little in the Old Testament, and I turned to 
a place that I didn’t understand very well, but I came to 
these words, and they made me think of you, for you are 
always talking about your ‘ old black heart.’ ” And she 
read, — 

“ I will give them one heart, and I will put a nfew spirit 
within you ; and I will take the stony heart out of their flesh 
and will give them an heart of flesh.” 

To Hannibal the words seemed a revelation from heaven. 
Standing before her, with streaming eyes, he said, — 

‘‘ O Miss Edie, you’se been an angel of light to me. Dat 
was jes de berry message I wanted. I knowed my ole heart 
was nothin’ but a black stun. De Lord couldn’t do nothin’ 
wid it but trow it away. But tanks be to His name. He 
says He’ll give me a new one — a heart of flesh. Now I 
sees dat my heart can be white like yours. Miss Edie. 
Bress de Lord, I’se a gwine, I’se a cornin’,” and Hannibal 
vanished into the kitchen, feeling that he must be alone in 
the glad tumult of his emotions. 


320 


JVJIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Edith’s and arden’s friendship. 

A S Edith laid aside her work for a frugal dinner at one 
o’clock,, she heard the sound of a hoe in her garden. 
The thought of Arden at once recurred to her, but looking 
out she saw old Malcom. Throwing a handkerchief over 
her head she ran out to him exclaiming, — 

“ How good you are, Mr. McTrump, to come and help 
me when I know you are so very busy at home ! ” 

“ Weel, nothin’ to boast on,” replied Malcom ; I tho’t 
that if ye had na one a lookin’ after the garden save Hanni- 
bal’s ‘spook,’ ye’d have but a ghaistly crop. But I’m a 
thinkin’ there’s mair than a ghaist been here.” 

“ It was Arden Lacey,” said Edith, frankly, but with 
deepening color. Malcom, in telling his wife about it said, 
“ She looked like the rose-bush, a’ in bloom, that she was a 
stonnin’ beside.” 

Edith, seeing the mischievous twinkle in her little friend’s 
eye, added hastily, “ Both Mrs. Lacey and her son have 
been very kind to us in our sickness and trouble, as well as 
yourself. But, Mr. McTrump,” she continued, anxious to 
change the subject, also eager to speak on the topic upper- 
most in her thoughts, “ I think I am beginning to ‘ learn it 
a’ ’ as you said, about that good Friend who suffered for us 
that we might not suffer. What you and your wife said to 
me the other day led me to read the ‘ Gude Book ’ after I 
got home. I don’t feel as I did then, I think I can trust 
Him now ” 


EDITH^S AXD ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 32 I 

Malconi dropped his hoe and came over into the path 
beside her. 

“ God be praised ! ” he said. “ I gie ye the right bond 
o' fellowship an’ welcome ye into the kirk o’ the Lord. Ye 
noo belong to the household o’ faith, an’ God’s true Israel, 
an’ may His gude Spirit guide ye into all truth.” 

The little man spoke very earnestly, and with a certain 
dignity and authority that his small stature and rude work- 
ing-dress could not diminish. A sudden feeling of solemnity 
and awe came over Edith, and she felt as if she were cross- 
ing the mystic threshold and entering the one true church 
consisting of all believers in Christ. 

For a moment she reverently bowed her head, and a 
sweeter sense of security came over her as if she were no 
longer an outsider, but had been received into the house- 
hold. 

Malcom, a ‘‘priest unto God” through his faith, officiated 
at the simple ceremony. The birds sang the choral service. 
The wind-shaken roses, blooming around her, with their 
sweet odors, were the censers and incense, and the sun- 
lighted garden, the earliest sacred place of Bible history, 
where the first fair woman worshipped, was the hallowed 
-ground of the initiatory rite. 

“ Why, Mr. McTrump, I feel almost as if I had joined the 
church,” said Edith after a moment. 

“An’ sae ye ha’ afore God, an’ I hope ere long ye’ll 
openly profess ye’re faith before men.” 

“ Do you think I ought?” said Edith, thoughtfully. 

“ Of coorse I do, but the Gude Book’ll teach a’ aboot it. 
Ye canna gang far astray wi’ that to guide ye.” 

“ I would like to join the church that you belong to, Mr. 
McTrump, as soon as I feel that I am ready, for it was you 
and your good wife that turned my thoughts in the right 
•direction. J was almost desperate with trouble and shame 


322 


WHA T CAN SHE DO? 


when I came to you that afternoon, and it was your speaking 
of the Bible and Jesus, and especially your kindness, that 
made me feel that there might be some hope and help in 
God.” 

The old man’s eyes became so moist that he turned away 
for a moment, but recovering himself after a little he said, — 

“ See noo, our homely deeds and words can be like the 
seeds we drop into the mould. Look aroon once and see |! 
how green and grand the garden is, and a’ from the wee I 
brown seeds we planted, the spring. Sae would the garden : 
o' the Lord bloom and floorish if a’ were droppin’ a ‘ word | 
in season ’ and a bit o’ kindness here and there. But if I 
stay here an’ preach to ye that need na preachin’, these sins j 
o’ the garden, the weeds, will grow apace. Go you an’ look 
in yer strawberry-bed.” 

With an exclamation of delight Edith pounced upon a fair- 
sized red berry, the first she had picked from her own vines. 
Then glancing around, she saw one and another showing its 
red cheek through the green leaves, till with a little cry of 
exultation, she said, — 

“O Mr. McTrump, I can get enough for mother and 
Laura.” 

“Aye, and enoof to moisten ye’re own red lips wi’ too. I’m 
a thinkin’. There’ll be na crop the year wourth speakin’ of ; 
but next June ’twill puzzle ye to gither them. But ye a’ can 
ha’ a dainty saucer yoursels the season, when ye’re a mind 
to stoop for them.” 

Edith soon had the pleasure of seeing her mother and 
Laura enjoying some, and as Malcom said, there were plenty 
for her, and they tasted like the ambrosia of the gods. 
Varied experiences had so thoroughly engrossed her 
thoughts and time the past few days, that she had scarcely 
looked toward her garden. But with the delicious flavor of 
the strawberries lingering in her mouth, and with the con- 


EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 323 


sciousness that she enjoyed picking them much more than 
sewing, the thought of winning her bread by the culture of 
the ground grew in her favor. 

“ Oh, how much rather would I be out there with 
Malcom ! ” she sighed. 

Glancing up from her work during the afternoon, she saw ^ 
Arden Lacey on his way to the village. There was a strange 
mingling of hope and fear in his mind. His mother’s 
manner had been such as to lead him to say when alone 
with her after breakfast, — 

I think your watching has done you good, mother, in- 
stead of wearying you too much, as I feared.” 

She had suddenly turned and placed both her hands on 
his shoulders, saying, — 

“ Arden, I hardly dare speak of it yet. It seems too good 
,0 be true, but a hope is coming into my heart like the dawn 
after night. She’s worthy of your love, however it may 
result, and if I find true what she told me last night I shall 
have reason to bless her name forever ; but I see only a glim- 
mer of light yet, and I rejoice with fear and trembling.” 
And she told him what had occurred. 

He was deeply moved, but not for the same cause as his 
mother. His desire and devotion went no farther than Edith. 

Can she have read my letter?” he thought, and he was 
consumed with anxiety for some expression of her feeling 
toward him. Therefore he was glad that business called him 
to the village that afternoon, but his steps were slow as he 
approached the little cottage, and his eyes were upon it as 
a pilgrim gazes at a shrine he long has sought. He envied 
Malcom working in the garden, and felt that if he could work 
there every day, it would be Adam’s life before he fell. 
Then he caught a glimpse of Edith sewing at the window, 
and he dropped his eyes instantly. He would not be so 
afraid of a battery of a hundred guns as of that poor sew- 


324 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


ing-girl (for such Edith now was), stitcliing away on Mrs. 
Groody’s coarse hotel linen. But Edith had noted his timid,, 
wistful looks, and calling Hannibal, said, — 

“ Please give that note to Mr. Lacey. He is just passing 
toward the village.” 

Hannibal, with the impressive dignity he had learned in 
olden times, handed the missive to Arden, saying, “ Miss 
Edie telled me to guv you dis ’scription.” 

If Hannibal had been Hebe he could not have been a 
more welcome messenger. 

Arden could not help his hand trembling as he took 
the letter, but he managed to say, I hope Miss Allen is 
well.” 

“ Her health am berry much disproved,” and Hannibal i 
retired with a stately bow. 

Arden quickened his steps, holding the missive in his hand. ' . 
As soon as he was out of sight, he opened and devoured 
Edith’s words. The light of a great joy dawned in his face, 
and made it look noble and beautiful, as indeed almost every 
human face appears when the light of a pure love falls upon 
it. Where most men would have murmured at the meagre 
return for their affection, he felt himself immeasurably re- 
warded and enriched, and it seemed as if he were walking 
on air the rest of the day. With a face set like a flint, he 
resolved to be true to the condition implied in the under- 
scored word friendship,” and never to whisper of love to 
her again. But a richer experience was still in store for 
him. For, on his return, in the cool of the evening, Edith ■ 
was in the garden picking currants. She saw him coming, ' 
and thought, “ If he is ever to be a friend worth the name, i 
I must break the ice of his absurd diffidence and formality. ^ 
And the sooner he comes to know me as I am, the sooner | 
he will find out that I am like other people, and he will have f 
a new Gevelation’ that will cure him of his infatuation. V 


EDITH'S AND A EDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 325 


I would like him for a friend very much, not only because I 
need his help, but because one likes a little society now and 
then, and he seems so well educated, if he is ‘ quar,’ as Han- 
nibal says.” So she startled poor Arden almost as much as 
if one of his Shakspearean heroines had called him in audible 
voice, by saying, as he came opposite her, — 

“ Mr. Lacey, won’t you come in a moment and tell me if 
it is time to pick my currants, and whether you think I could 
sell them in the village, or at the hotel? ” 

This address, so matter-of-fact in tone and character, 
seemed to him like the June twilight, containing, in some 
subtle manner, the essence of all that was beautiful ' and full 
of promise in his heart-history. He bowed and went toward 
the little gate to comply with her request, as Adam might if 
he had been created outside of Eden and Eve inside, and 
she had looked over a flowering hedge in the purple twilight, 
and told him to come in. He was not going merely to look 
at currants and consider their marketable condition ; he was 
entering openly upon the knightly service to which he had 
devoted himself. He was approaching his idol, which was 
not a heathen stock or stone, but a sweet little woman. In 
regard to the currants he ventured dubiously, — 

“ They might do for pies.” 

In regard to herself, his eyes said, in spite of his purpose 
to be merely friendly, that she was too good for the gods of 
Mount Olympus. He both amused and interested Edith, 
whose long familiarity with society and lack of any such feel- 
ing as swayed him made her quite at ease. With a twinkle 
in her eyes, she said, — 

“ I have thought that perhaps Mrs. Groody could help me 
find sale for them at the hotel.” 

I am going there to-morrow, and I will ask her for you, 
if you wish,” said Arden, timidly. 

Thank you,” replied Edith. “I shall be very much 


326 


T CAN SHE DO ? 


obliged to you if you will. You see I wish to sell everything 
out of the garden that I can find a market for.” 

She was rather astonished at the effect of this mercenary 
speech, for there was a wonderful blending of sympathy and 
admiration in his face, as he said, — 

“ I am frequently going to the hotel and village, and if you 
will let me know what you have to dispose of, I can find out 
whether it is in demand, and carry it to market for you.” 
He could not help adding, with a voice trembling with feel- 
ing, “ Miss Allen, I am so glad you permit me to be of some 
help to you.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” thought Edith, ‘‘ how can I make him under- 
stand what I really am?” She turned to him with an ex- 
pression that was both perplexed and quizzical, and said, — 

“ Mr. Lacey, I very frankly and gratefully accept your 
delicately offered friendship (emphasizing the last word), 
not only because of my need, but of yours also. If any one 
needs a sensible friend, I think you do. You truly must 
have lived a ‘ hermit’s life in the world ’ to have such strange 
ideas of people. Let me tell you as a perfect certainty, 
that no such person exists as the Edith Allen that you have 
imagined. She is no more a reality than your other shadows, 
and the more you know of me, the sooner you will find it 
out. I am not in the least like a heroine in a romance. I 
live on the most substantial food rather than moonlight, and 
usually have an excellent appetite. I am the most practical, 
matter-of-fact creature in existence, and you will find no one 
in this place more sharp on the question of dollars and cents. 
Indeed, I am continually in a most mercenary frame of 
mind, and this very moment here, in the romantic June 
twilight, if you ransacked history, poetry, and all the fine 
arts, you could not tell me anything half so beautiful, half so 
welcome, as how to make money in a fair, honorable way.” 

“ There,” thought she, that will be another ‘ revelation ' 


EDITWS AND A EDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 


327 


to him. If he don’t jump over the garden fence in his haste- 
to escape such a monster, I shall be glad.” 

But Arden’s face only grew more grave and gentle as he 
looked down upon her, and he asked, — 

“ Is it because you love the money itself. Miss Allen?” 

“Well, no,” said Edith, somewhat taken aback. “ I can 
never earn enough to make it worth while to do that. Misers, 
love to count their money,” she added, with a little pathetic 
accent in her voice, “ and I fear mine will go before I can 
count it.” 

“ You wish me to think less of you, then, because you are- 
bravely, and without thought of sparing yourself, trying to- 
earn money to provide home-shelter and comfort for your 
feeble mother and sister. You wish me to think you ccm- 
monplace because you have the heroism to do any kind of 
work, rather than be helpless and dependent. Pardon me,, 
but for such a ^ practical, matter-of-fact ’ lady, I do not 
think your logic is good.” 

Edith’s vexation and perplexity only increased, and she 
said, earnestly, “ But I wish you to understand that I am 
only Edith Allen, and as poor as poverty, nothing but 
a sewing-girl, and only hoping to arrive at the dignity of a 
gardener. The majority of the world thinks I am not even 
fit to speak to,” she added, in a low tone. 

Arden bowed his head, as if in reverence before her, and 
then said, firmly, — 

“ And I wish you to understand that I am only Arden 
Lacey, with a sot for a father, and the scorn, contempt, and 
hatred of all the world as my heritage. I am a slip-shod 
farmer. Our place is heavily mortgaged, and will eventually 
be sold away from us. It grows more weeds now than any- 
thing else ; and it seems that nettles have been the principal 
crop that I have reaped all my life. Thus, you see, I am 
poorer than poverty, and am rich only in my mother, and. 


338 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


'eventually, I hope,” he added timidly, in the possession of 
your friendship. Miss Allen ; I shall try sc sincerely and hard 
to deserve it.” 

With a frown, a laugh, and a shy look of sympathy at him, 
Edith said, ‘‘ I don’t see but you have got to find out your 
mistake for yourself. Time and facts cure many follies.” 
But she found little encouragement in his incredulous smile. 

The next moment she turned upon him so sharply that he 
was startled. 

‘‘ I am a business woman,” she said, “ and conduct my 
affairs on business principles. You said, I think, you would 
help me find a market for the produce of my place? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. 

As certainly you must take fifteen per cent commission 
‘On all sales.” 

“O Miss Allen,” commenced Arden, “I couldn’t — ” 

“There,” said she decisively, “you haven’t the first idea 
of business. Not a thing can you touch unless you comply 
with my conditions. There is no sentiment, I assure you, 
•connected with currants and cabbages.” 

“ You may be certain, Miss Allen, that I would comply 
with any condition,” said Arden, with the air of one who is 
■cornered, “ but let me suggest, since we are arranging this 
matter so strictly on business grounds, that ten per cent is all 
I should take. That is the regular commission, and is all I 
pay in sending produce to New York.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t know that,” said the experienced and un- 
compromising woman of business, innocently. “ Do you 
think that would pay you for your trouble?” 

“ I think it would,” he replied, so demurely and yet with 
such a twinkle in his blue eyes, that now looked very differ- 
ent with the light of hope and happiness in them, that Edith 
turned away with a laugh. 

But she said, with assumed sharpness, “ See that you keep 


EDITWS AND A EDEN’S FRIENDSHIP. 


your accounts straight. I shall be a very dragon over your 
accouht-book.” 

Thus the ice was broken, and Edith and Arden became 
friends. 

The future has now been quite clearly indicated to the 
reader, and, lest my story should grow wearisome as a “ twice- 
told tale,” we pass over several subsequent months with but 
a few words. 

It was not a good fruit year, and Edith’s place had been 
sadly neglected previous to her possession. Therefore, 
though Arden surprised himself in the sharp business traits 
he developed as Edith’s salesman, the results were not very 
large. But still they greatly assisted her, and amounted to 
more than the earnings of her unskilled hands from other 
sources. She insisted on doing everything on business prin- 
ciples, and made Arden take his ten per cent, which was of 
real help to him in this way : he gave all the money to his 
mother, saying, “/'couldn’t spend it to save my life.” Mrs. 
Lacey had many uses for every penny she could obtain. 

Then Edith paid old Malcom by making up bouquets- 
for sale at the hotel, and arranging baskets of flowers for 
parties there and elsewhere, and other lighter labors. Mrs.. 
Groody continued to send her work ; and thus during the 
summer and early fall she managed to make her garden and 
her labor provide for all family expenses, saving what was 
left of the four hundred, after paying all debts, for winter 
need. Moreover, she stored away in cellar and attic enough 
of the products of the garden to be of great help also. 

Mrs. Allen did recover her usual health, and also her 
usual modes of thought and feeling. The mental and moral 
habits of a lifetime are not readily changed. Often and 
earnestly did Edith talk with her mother, but with few evi- 
dences of the result she longed to see. 

Mrs. Allen’s condition, in view of the truth, was the most 


330 


WI/A T CAN SHE DO ? 


hopeless one of all. She saw only her preconceived ideas, 
and not the truth itself. One day she said, with some irrita- 
tion, to Edith, who was pleading with her, — 

“ Do you think I am a heathen ? Of course, I believe 
the Bible. Of course, I believe in Jesus Christ. I have 
been a member of the church ever since I was sixteen.” 

Edith sighed, and thought, Only He who can satisfy 
her need can reveal it to her.” 

Poor Mrs. Allen ! With the strange infatuation of a 
worldly mind, she was turning to the world, and it alone, 
for hope and solace. Untaught by the wretched experience 
of the past, she was led to enter upon a new and similar 
scheme for the aggrandizement of her family, as will be 
explained in another chapter. 

Laura regained her strength somewhat, and was able to 
relieve Edith of the care of her mother, and the lighter 
duties of the house. Her faith developed like that shy, 
delicate blossom, called the “ wind-flower,” easily shaken, 
and yet with a certain hardiness and power to live and 
thrive in sterile places. 

Editii and Mrs. Lacey were eventually received into the 
church that Malcom attended, and, after the simple ser- 
vice, they^ took dinner with the old Scotchman and his wife. 
Malcom seemed hardly “ in the body ” all day. 

My heart’s abloom,” he said, “ wi’ a’ the sweet posies 
that God ever made blush when he looked at them the first 
time, an’ ye seem the sweetest o’ them a’. Miss Edith. Ah, 
but the Gude Husbandman gathered a fair blossom the 
day.” 

Now, Mr. McTrump,” said Edith, reproachfully, but 
with a face like Malcom’s posies, “ you shouldn’t give com- 
pliments on Sunday.” For Arden and Rose were present 
also, and Edith thought, “ Such foolish words will only 
increase his infatuation.” 


f 


EDITH'S AND A EDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 3311 

“ Weel,” said Malcom, scratching his head, in his per- 
plexed effort at apology, “ I wud na mak ye vain, nor hurt 
ye’re conscience, but it kind o’ slippit out afore I could stop- 
it.” 

In the laugh that followed Malcom’s explanation Edith 
felt that matters had not been helped much, and she 
adroitly turned the conversation. 

Public opinion, from being at first very bitter and scorn- 
ful against the Allens, gradually began to soften. One after 
another, as they recognized Edith’s patient, determined 
effort to do right, began to give her the credit and the 
respect to which she was entitled. Little acts and tokens 
of kindly feeling became more frequent, and were like 
glints of sunlight on her shadowed path. But the great 
majority felt that they could have no associations with such 
as the Allens, and completely ignored them. 

In their relations with the church, Edith and Mrs. Lacey 
found increasing satisfaction. Many of its humble, and 
some of its more influential members, treated them with 
much kindness and sympathy, and they realized more and 
more that there are good, kind people in the world, if you 
look in the right way and right places for them. The Rev. 
Mr. Knox was a faithful preacher and pastor, and if his ser- 
mons were a little dry and doctrinal at times, they were as 
sound and sweet as a nut. Moreover, both Edith and Mrs. 
Lacey were sadly deficient in the doctrines, neither having 
ever had any religious instruction, and they listened with the 
grave, earnest interest of those desiring to be taught. 

Mrs. Groody re-connected herself with her old church. 

I want to go where I can shout, ‘ Glory ! ’ ” she said. 

Rose but faintly sympathized with her mother’s feelings. 
Her restless, ambitious spirit turned longingly toward the 
world. Its attractions she could understand, but not those 
of faith. Through her father’s evil habits, and Arden’s poor 


332 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


farming, the pressure of poverty rested heavier and heavier 
on the family, and she had about resolved to go to New 
York and find employment in some store. 

Arden rarely went to church, but read at home. He 
was somewhat skeptical in regard to the Bible ; not that he 
had ever carefully examined either it or its evidences, but 
he had read much of the prevalent semi-infidelity, and was 
a little conceited over his independent thinking. Then, in 
a harsh, sweeping cynicism, he utterly detested church 
people, calling them the holy sect of the Pharisees.” 

“ But they are not all such,” his mother would say. 

“Oh, no,” he would reply; “there are some sincere ones, 
of course ; but I think they would be better out than in such 
a company of hypocrites.” 

But as he saw Edith’s sincerity, and learned of her pur- 
pQse to unite with the church, he kept these views more 
and more in the background ; but he had too much respect 
for her and his mother’s faith to go with them to what they 
regarded as a sacred place, from merely the personal motive 
■of being near Edith. 

One day Mrs. Lacey and Edith walked down to the even- 
ing prayer- meeting. Arden, who had business in the village, 
was to call for them at its close ; as they were walking home 
Edith suddenly asked him, — 

“ Why don’t you go to church? ” 

“ I don’t like the people I meet there.” 

“ What have you against them ? ” 

“Well, there is Mr. Hard. He is one of the Mights and 
pillars ; ’ and he would have sold the house over your head, 
if you had not paid him. He can ‘ devour a widow’s house ’ 
•as well as they of olden time.” 

“That is not the question,” said the practical Edith, 
earnestly. “What have you to do with Mr. Hard, or he 
with you? Does he propose — is he able to save you? 


EDITH'S AND A EDEN'S FRIENDSHIP. 333 ; 

The true question is, What have you got against Jesus- 
Christ?” 

“ Well, really. Miss Edith, I can have nothing against 
Him. Both history and legend unite in presenting Him 
as one of the purest and noblest of men. But pardon me 
if I say in all honesty that I cannot quite accept your be- 
liefs in regard to Him and the Bible in general. A man can 
hardly be a man without exercising the right of inde- 
pendent thought. I cannot take a book called the Bible for 
granted.” 

‘‘ But,” asked Edith keenly, “ are you not taking other 
books for granted ? Answer me truly, Mr. Lacey, have you 
carefully and patiently investigated this subject, not only on 
the side of your skeptical writers, but on God’s side also?' 
He has plenty of facts, as well as the infidels, and my rich, 
lasting, rational, spiritual experience is as much a fact as that 
stone there, and a good deal higher and better one, I think.” 

Arden was silent for some little time, and they could see 
in the moonlight that his face was very grave and thoughtful.. 
At last he said, as if it had been wrung from him, — 

“ Miss Allen, to be honest with you and myself, I have 
never given the subject such a fair examination.” After a 
moment he continued, “ Even if I became convinced that 
all were true, I might still remain at home, for I could find 
far more advantage in reading books, or the Bible itself, than 
from Mr. Knox’s dry sermons.” 

“ I think you are wrong,” said Edith, gently but firmly. 
‘"Granting the premise you admitted a moment ago, that 
Christ was one of the purest and noblest of men, you surely, 
with your chivalric instincts, would say that such a man 
ought to be imitated.” 

“Yes,” said Arden, “and He denounced the Pharisees.’” 

“And He wbrshipped with them also,” said Edith, 
quickly. “ He went to the temple with the others. What 


334 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


•was there to interest Him in the dreary forlorn little syna 
gogue at Nazareth? and yet He was there with the regularity 
of the Sabbath. It was the best form of faith and worship 
then existing, and He sustained it by every means in His 
power, till He could give the people something better. 
Suppose all the churches in this place were closed, not one 
in a hundred would or could read the books you refer to. 
If your example was followed they would be closed. As far 
as your example goes it tends to close them. I have heard 
Mr. Knox say, that wherever Christian worship and the 
Christian Sabbath are not observed, society rapidly deterio- 
rates. Is it not true ? ” 

They had stopped at Edith’s gate. Arden averted his 
face for a moment, then turning toward Edith he gave her 
his hand, saying, — 

Yes, it is true, and a true, faithful friend you have been 
to me to-night. I admit myself vanquished.” 

Edith gave his hand a cordial pressure, saying earnestly. 
You are not vanquished by the young ignorant girl, Edith 
Allen, but by the truth that will yet vanquish the world.” 

After that Arden went regularly with them to church, and 
tried to give sincere attention to the service, but his un- 
curbed fancy was wandering to the ends of the earth most 
of the time ; or his thoughts were dwelling in rapt attention 
on Edith. She, after all, was the only object of his faith 
and worship, though he had a growing intellectual convic- 
tion that her faith was true. 

And so the moriths passed into autumn, but with the 
nicest sense of honor he refrained from word or deed that 
would remind Edith that he was her lover. She became 
greatly attached to him, and he seemed almost like a brother 
to her. She found increasing pleasure in his society, fur 
Arden, after the restraint of his diffidence was banished, 
could talk well, and he opened to her the rich treasures of 


EDITWS AND ARDEN’S FRIENDSHIP. 335 


his reading, and with almost a poet’s fancy and power pic- 
tured to her the storied past. 

To both herself and Mrs. Lacey life grew sunnier and 
sweeter. But they each had a heavy burden on their hearts, 
which they daily brought to the feet of the Compassionate 
One. They united in praying for Mrs. Lacey’s husband, 
and for Zell ; and their strong faith and love would take no 
denial. But, as Laura had said, the silence of the grave 
seemed to have swallowed lost Zell. 


33 ^ 


WHA T CAN SHE DO i 


CHAPTER XXXL 


ZELL. 


ND the silence of the grave ought to swallow such as 



±\. poor Zell had become,” is, perhaps, the thought of 
some. All reference to her and her class should be sup- 
pressed. 

We firmly say. No ! If so, the New Testament mnst be 
suppressed. The Divine Teacher spoke plainly both of the 
sin and the sinner. He had scathing denunciation for 
the one, and compassion and mercy for the other. Shall 
we enforce His teachings against all other forms of evil, and 
not against this deadliest one of all — and that, too, in the 
laxity and wide demoralization of our age, when temptation 
lurks on every hand, and parents are often sleepless with 
just anxiety? 

Evil is active, alluring, suggesting, insinuating itself when 
least expected, and many influences are at work, with the 
full approval of society, to poison forever all pure thoughts. 
And temptation is sure to come at first as an angel of 
light. 

There is no safety save in solemn words of warning, the 
wholesome terror which knowledge inspires, the bracing of 
principle, and the ennobling of Christian faith. There are 
too many incarnate fiends who will take advantage of the 
innocence of ignorance. 

Zell is not in her grave. She is sinning, but more sinned 
against. He who said to one like her, of old, Her sins, 


ZELL. 337 

yvhich are many, are forgiven,” loves her still, and Edith i^ 
praying for her. The grave cannot close over her yet. 

But as we look upon this long-lost one, as she reclines or 
a sofa in Van Dam’s luxurious apartments, as we see her 
temples throbbing with pain, and that her cheeks are flushed 
and feverish, it would seem that the grave might soon hide 
her from a contemptuous and vindictive world. 

Her head does ache sadly, it seems bursting with pain ; 
but her heart aches with a bitterer anguish. Zell had too 
fine a nature to sin brutally and unfeelingly. Her betrayer’s 
treachery wounded her more deeply than he could under- 
stand. Even her first strong love for him could not bridge 
the chasm of guilt to which he led her, and her passionate 
nature and remorse often caused her to turn upon him with 
such scathing reproaches that even he, in his hardihood, 
trembled. 

Knowing how proud and high-strung she was, he feared 
to reveal his treachery in New York, a locality with which 
she was familiar; so he said that very important business 
called him at once to Boston, a city where he had few 
acquaintances. Zell reluctantly acquiesced in this further 
journey. 

They jaunted about in the North and West through the 
summer and autumn, and now have but recently returned to 
New York. 

With a wild terror she saw that his passion for her was 
waning. Therefore her reproaches and threats became at 
times almost terrific, and again her servile entreaties were 
even more pitiable and dreadful, in view of what a true wife’s 
position and right ought to be. He, wearying of her fierce 
and alternating moods, and selfishly thinking of his owii 
ease and comfort, as was ever the case, had resolved to 
throw her off at the first opportunity. 

But retribution for both was near. The small-pox was 


338 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


almost epidemic in the city : Zell’s silk had swept against a 
beggar’s infected rags, and fourteen days later appeared the 
fatal symptoms. ^ 

And truly she is weary and heart-sick this afternoon. 
She never remembered feeling so ill. The thought of death 
appalled her. She felt, as never before, that she wanted 
bCme one to love and take care of her. 

V an Dam entered, and said, rather roughly, — 

‘'What’s the matter?” 

“I’m sick,” said Zell, faintly. 

He muttered an oath. 

She arose from the sofa and tottered to his easy chair, 
knelt, and clasped his knees. 

“ Guilliam,” she pleaded, “ I am very sick. I have a 
feeling that I shall die. Won’t you marry me ? Won’t you 
take care of your poor little Zell, that loved you so well as 
to leave all for you ? Perhaps I sha’n’t burden you much 
V)nger, but, if I do get well, I will be your patient slave, if 
^ ou will only marry me ; ” and the tears poured over the 
hot, feverish cheeks, that they could not cool. 

His only reply was to ask, with some irritation, — 

“ How do you feel? ” 

“ Oh, my head aches, my bones ache, every part of my 
body aches, but my heart aches worst of all. You can ease 
that, Guilliam. In the name of God’s mercy, won’t you ? ” 

A sudden thought caused the coward’s face to grow white 
with fear. “ I must have a doctor see you,” was his only 
reply to her appeal, and he passed hastily out. 

Zell felt that a blow would have been better than his in- 
difference, and she crawled back to her couch. A little 
later, she was conscious that a physician was feeling h^v 
pulse, and examining her symptoms. After he was gone she 
had strength enough to take off her jewelry and rings — all, 
save one solitaire diamond, that her father had given her. 


ZELL. 339 

The rest seemed to oppress her with their weight. She 
then threw herself on the bed. 

She was next conscious that some one was lifting her up. 
She roused for a moment, and stared around. There were 
several strange faces. 

^‘What do you want? What are you going to do with, 
me? ” she asked, in a thick voice, and in vague terror. 

“ I am sorry, miss,” said one of the men, in an official 
tone ; “ but you have the small-pox, and we must take you 
to the hospital.” 

She gave one shriek .of horror. A hand was placed over 
her mouth. She murmured faintly, — 

“ Guilliam — help ! ” and then, under the effects of dis- 
ease and fear, became partially unconscious ; but her hand 
clenched, and with some instinct hard to understand, re- 
mained so, over the diamond ring that was her father’s gift. 

She was conscious of riding in something hard over the 
stony street, for the jolting hurt her cruelly. She was con- 
scious of the sound of water, for she tried to throw herself 
into it, that it might cool her fever. She was conscious of 
reaching some place, and then she felt as if she had no rest 
for many days, and yet was not awake. But through it all 
she kept her hand closed on her father’s^ gift. At times it 
seemed to her that some one was trying to take it off, but 
she instinctively struggled and cried out, and the hand was 
withdrawn. 

At last one night she seemed to wake and come to her- 
self. She opened her eyes and looked timidly around the 
dim ward. All was strange and unaccountable. She feared 
that she was in another world. But as she raised her hand 
to her head, as if to clear away the mist of uncertainty, a. 
sparkle from the diamond caught her eye. For a long time 
she stared vacantly at it, with the weak, vague feeling that 
in some sense it might be a clue. Its faint lustre was like 


340 


WI/A T CAN SHE DO ? 


the glimmer cf a star through a rift in the clouds to a lost 
traveler. Its familiar light and position remind him of 
home, and by its ray he guesses in what direction to move > 
so the crystallized light upon her finger threw its faint glim- 
mer into the past, and by its help Zell’s weak mind groped 
•its way down from the hour it was given to the moment 
when she became partially unconscious in Van Dam’s apart- 
ments. But the word small-pox was burned into her brain, 
and she surmised that she was in a hospital. 

At last a woman passed. Zell feebly called her. 

“ What do you want? ” said a rather gruff voice. 

“ I want to write a letter.” 

“You can’t. It’s against the rules.” 

“ I must,” pleaded Zell. “ Oh, as you are a woman, and 
hope in God’s mercy, don’t refuse me.” 

“ Can’t break the rules,” said the woman, and she was 
about to pass on. 

“ Stop ! ” said Zell, in a whisper. “ See there,” and she 
flashed the diamond upon her. “ I’ll give you that if you’ll 
promise before God to send a letter for me. It would take 
you many months to earn the value of that.” 

The woman was a part of-the city government, so she 
acted characteristically. She brought Zell writing materials 
and a bit of candle, saying, — 

“ Be quick ! ” 

With her poor, stiff, diseased hand, Zell wrote : — 

“Guilliam : — You cannot know where I am. You cannot know 
what has happened. You could not be such a fiend as to cast me off 
and send me here to die — and die I shall. The edge of the grave 
seems crumbling under me as I write. If you have a spark of love 
for me, come and see me before I die. O Guilliam, Guilliam ! what a 
heaven of a home I would have made you, if you had only married 
me ! It would have been my whole life to make you happy. I said 
bitter words to you — forgive them. We both have sinned — can God 
forgive us? I will not believe you know what has happened. You 


ZELL. 


341 


are grieving for me — looking for me. They took me away while you 
were gone. Come and see me before I die. Goodby. I’m writing 
in the dark — I’m dying in the dark — my soul is in the dark — I’m 
going away in the dark — where, O God, where.? 

“ Your poor little „ ZELL ” 

“Small-Pox Hospital (I don’t know date).” 

Poor, poor Zell ! As in the case of a tempest-tossed one 
of old, “ sun, moon, and stars ” had long been hidden. 

Almost fainting with weakness, she sealed and directed 
the letter, drew off the ring, pressed it to her lips, and then 
turned her eyes, unnaturally large and bright, on the woman 
waiting at her side, and said, — 

Look at me ! Promise me you will see that this letter 
is delivered. Remember, I am going to die. If you ever 
hope for an hour’s peace, promise ! ” 

“ I promise,” said the woman solemnly, for she was as 
superstitious as avaricious, and though she had no hesitancy 
in breaking the rules and taking a bribe, she would not 
have dared for her life to have risked treachery to a girl 
whom she believed dying. 

Zell gave her the ring and the letter, and sank back for 
the time unconscious. 

The woman had her means of communication with the 
city, and before many hours elapsed the letter was on its 
way. 

Van Dam was in a state of nervous fear till, the fourteen 
days passed, and then he felt that he was safe. He had his 
rooms thoroughly fumigated, and was reassured by his physi- 
cians saying daily, “There was not much danger of her 
giving you the disease in its first stage. She is probably 
dead by this time.” 

But the wheels of life seemed to grow heavier and more 
clogged every day. He was fast getting down to the dregs, 
and now almost every pleasure palled upon his jaded taste. 


342 


WHA T CAN SHE DO f 


At one time it seemed that Zell might so infuse her vigorous 
young life and vivacity into his waning years that his last 
days would be his best. And this might have been the case, 
if he had reformed his evil life and dealt with her as a true 
man. In her strong and exceptional love, considering their 
difference in age, there were great possibilities of good for 
both. But he had foully perverted the last best gift of his life, 
and even his blunted moral sense was awakening to the truth. 

“Curse it all,” he muttered, late one morning, “perhaps 
I had better have married her. I hoped so much from her, 
and she has been nothing but a source of trouble and danger. 
I wonder if she is dead.” 

He had been out very late the night before, and had played 
heavily, but not with his usual skill. He had kept muttering 
grim oaths against his luck, and drinking deeper and deeper 
till a friend had half forced him away. And now, much 
shaken by the night’s debauch, depressed by his heavy losses, 
conscience, that crouches like a tiger in every bad man’s 
soul, and waits to rush from its lair and rend, in the long 
hours — the long eternity of weakness and memory — already 
had its fangs in his guilty heart. 

Long and bitterly he thought, with a frown resting like 
night on his heavy brow. The servant brought him a dainty 
breakfast, but he sullenly motioned it away. He had wronged 
his digestive powers so greatly the night before that even 
brandy was repugnant to him, and he leaned heavily and 
wearily back in his chair, a prey to remorse. 

He was in just the right physical condition to take a con- 
tagious disease. 

There was a knock at the door, and the servant entered, 
bringing him a letter, saying, “ This was just left here for ye, 
sir.” 

“ A dun,” thought he, languidly, and he laid it unopened 
on the stand beside him. 


ZELL. 343 

It was j and from one whom he owed a reparation he could 
never make, though h.e paid with his life. 

With his eyes closed, he still leaned back in a dull, pain- 
ful lethargy. A faint, disagreeable odor gradually pervaded 
the room, and at last attracted his attention. The luxurious 
sybarite could not help the stings of conscience, the odor he 
might. He grew restless, and looked around. 

Zell’s letter caught his attention. “ Might as well see who 
it’s from,” he muttered. Weakness, pain, and emotion had 
so changed Zell’s familiar hand, that he did not recognize it. 

But, as he opened and read, his eyes dilated with horror. 
It seemed like a dead hand grasping him out of the dark- 
ness. But a dreadful fascination compelled him to read 
every line, and re-read them, till they seemed burned into 
his memory. At last, by a desperate effort, he broke the 
strong spell her words had placed upon him, and, starting 
up, exclaimed, — 

“Go to her, in that pest-house ! I would see her dead a 
thousand times first. I hope she is dead, for she is the tor- 
ment of my life. What is it that smells so queer? ” 

His eyes again rested on the letter. A suspicion crossed 
his mind. He carried the letter to his nose, and then started 
violently, uttering awful oaths. 

“ She has sent the contagion directly to me,” he groaned, 
and he threw poor Zell’s appeal on the grate. It burned 
with a faint, sickly odor. Then, as the day was raw and 
windy, a sudden gust down the chimney blew it all out into 
the room, and scattered it in ashes, like Zell’s hopes, aroun 1 
his feet. 

A superstitious horror, that made his fiesh creep and hair 
rise, took possession of him, and hastily gathering a f^w 
necessary things, he rushed out into the chill air, and made 
his way to a large hotel. He wanted to be in a crowd. He 
wanted the hard, material world’s noise and bustle around 


344 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


him. He wanted to hear men talking about gold and stocks, 
and the gossip of the town — anything .that would make living 
on seem a natural, possible matter of course. 

But men’s voices sounded strange and unfamiliar, and the 
real world seemed like that which mocks us in our dreams. 
Mingling with all he saw and heard were Zell’s despairing 
looks and Zell’s despairing words. He wrapped himself in 
his great coat, he drank frequent and fiery potations, he 
hovered around the registers, but nothing could take away 
the chill at his heart. He tossed feverishly all night. His 
sudden exposure to the raw wind in his heated, excited con- 
dition caused a severe cold. But he would not give up. 
He dared not stay alone in his room, and so crept down to 
the public haunts of the hotel. But his flushed cheeks and 
strange manner attracted attention. As the days passed, he 
grew worse, and the proprietor of the house said, — 

‘‘You are ill, you must go to bed.” i 

But he would not. There was nothing that he seemed 
to dread so much as being alone. But the guests began to 
grow afraid of him. There was general and wide-spread 
fear of the small-pox in the city, and for some reason it 
began to be associated with his illness. As the suspicion 
was whispered around, all shrank from him. The proprietor 
had him examined at once by a physician. It was the fatal 
fourteenth day, and the dreaded symptoms were apparent. 

“ Have you no friends, no home to which you can go ? ” 
he was asked. 

“ No,” he groaned, while the thought pierced his soul. 
“ She would have made me one and taken care of me in it.” 
But he pleaded, “ For God’s sake, don’t send me away.” 

“ I must,” said the proprietor, frightened himself. “ The 
law requires it, and your presence here would empty my 
house in an hour.” 

So, in the dusk, like poor Zell, he was smuggled down a 


ZELL. 


345 


back stairway, and sent to the pest-house ” also, he groan- 
ing and crying with terror all the way. 

Zell did not die. Her vigorous constitution rallied, and 
she rapidly regained strength. But with strength and power 
of thought, came the certainty to her mind of Van Dam’s 
utter and final abandonment of her. She felt that all the 
world would now be against her, and that she would be 
driven from every safe and pleasant path. The thought of 
taking her shame to her home was a horror to her, and she 
felt sure that Edith would spurn her from the door. At first 
she wept bitterly and despairingly, and wished she had died. 
But gradually she grew hard, reckless, and cruel under her 
wrong, and her every thought of Van Dam was a curse. 

The woman who helped her to write the letter greatly 
startled her one day, by saying, — 

“ Ther’s a man in the men’s ward who in his ravin’ speaks 
of you.” 

‘‘Could he, in just retribution, have been sent here also?” 
she thought. Pleading relationship, she was admitted to 
see him. He shuddered as he saw her advancing, with 
stony face and eyes in which glared relentless hate. 

“ Curse you ! ” he muttered, feebly, with his parched lips. 
“ Go away, living or dead, I know not which you are ; but 
I know it was through you I came here ! ” 

Her only answer was a mocking smile. 

The doctor came and examined his symptoms. 

“Will he get well?” she asked, following him away a 
short distance. 

“ No,” said the physician. “He will die.” 

Her cheek blanched for a moment ; but from her eyes 
glowed a deadly gleam of satisfaction. 

“What did he say? ” whispered Van Dam. 

“ He says you will die,” she answered, in a stony voice. 
“You see, I am better than you were. You would not come 


346 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


to me for even one poor moment. You left me to die 
alone ; but I will stay and watch with you.” 

“ Oh, go away ! ” groaned Van Dam. 

I couldn’t be so heartless,” she said, in a mocking tone. 
“ You need dying consolation. I want to tell you, Guilliam, 
what was in my mind the night I left all for you. I did 
doubt you a little. That is where I sinned; but I shall 
only suffer for that through all eternity,” she said, with a 
reckless laugh that chilled his soul. “ But then, I hoped, I 
felt almost sure, you would marry me ; and, oh, what a 
heaven of a home I purposed to make you ! If you had 
only let even a magistrate say, ^ I pronounce you man and 
wife,’ I would have been your patient slave. I would have 
kissed away even your headaches, and had you ten conta- 
gions, I would not have left you. I would have taken care 
of you and nursed you back to life.” 

“ Go away ! ” groaned Van Dam, with more energy. 

Guilliam,” she said taking his hand, which shuddered 
at her touch, “ we might have had a happy little home by 
this time. We might have learned to live a good life in this 
world and have prepared for a better one in the next. 
Little children might have put their soft arms around your 
neck, and with their innocent kisses banished the memory 
and the power of the evil past. Oh,” she gasped, “ how 
happy we might have been, and mother, Edith, and Laura 
would have smiled upon us. But what is now our condi- 
tion?” she said bitterly, her grip upon his hand becom- 
ing hard and fierce. ‘‘You have made me a tigress. I 
must cower and hide through life like a wild beast in a 
jungle. And you are dying and going to hell,” she hissed 
in his ear, “ and by and by, when I get to be an old ugly 
hag, I will come and torment you there forever and for- 
ever.” 

“ Curse you, go away,” shrieked the terror-stricken man. 


ZELL, 347 

An attendant hastened to the spot ; Zell was standing at 
the foot of the cot, glaring at him. 

“ I thought you was a relation of his’n,” said the man, 
roughly. 

“ So I am,” said Zell, sternly. As the one stung is 
related to the viper that stung him,” and with a withering 
look she passed away. 

That night Van Dam died. 

In process of time Zell was turned adrift in the city. She 
applied vainly at stores and shops for a situation. She had 
no good clothes, and appearances were against her. She 
had a very little money in her portemonnaie when she was 
taken to the hospital. This was given to her on leaving, 
and she made it go as far as possible. At last she went to 
an intelligence office and sat among the others, who looked 
suspiciously at her. They instinctively felt that she was not 
of their sort. 

‘‘ What can you do? ” was the frequent question. 

She did not know how to do a single thing, but thought 
that perhaps the position of waitress would be the easiest. 

Where are your references ? ” 

It was her one thought and effort to conceal all reference 
to the past. At last the proprietor in pity sent her to a lady 
who had told him to supply her with a waitress ; the place 
was in Brooklyn, and Zell was glad, for she had less fear 
there of seeing any one she knew. 

The lady scolded bitterly about such an ignoramus being 
sent to her, but Zell seemed so patient and willing that she 
decided to try her. Zell gave her whole soul to the work, 
and though the place was a hard one, would have eventually 
learned to fill it. The family were a little surprised some- 
times at her graceful movements, and the quick gleams of 
intelligence in her large eyes, as some remark was made 
naturally beyond one in her sphere. One day they were 


348 


WNA T CAN SHE DO ? 


trying to recall, while at the table, the name of a famous 
singer at the opera. Before she thought the name was 
almost out of her lips. The poor girl tried to disguise her- 
self by assuming, as well as she could, the stolid, stupid 
manner of those who usually blunder about our homes. 

All might have gone well, and she have gained an honest 
livelihood, had not an unforeseen circumstance revealed her 
past life. Those who have done wrong are never safe. 
At the most unexpected time, and in the most unexpected 
way, their sin may stand out before all and blast them. 

Zell’s mistress had told her to make a little extra prepara- 
tion, for she expected a gentleman to dine that evening. 
With some growing pride and interestin her work, she ha,d 
done her best, and even her mistress said, — 

“Jane” (her assumed name,) “you are improving,” and 
a gleam of something like hope and pleasure shot across the 
poor child’s face. A passionate sigh came up from her 
heart, — 

“ Oh, I will try to do right if the world will let me.” 

But imagine her terror as she saw an old crony of Van 
Dam’s enter the room. The man recognized her in a 
m.oment, and she saw that he did. She gave him an im- 
ploring glance, which he returned by one of cool contempt. 
Zell could hardly get through the meal, and her manner 
attracted attention. The cold-blooded fellow, whose soul 
was akin to that of his dead friend, was considerate enough 
to his hostess not to spoil her dinner, or rob her of a wait- 
ress till it was over. But the moment they returned to the 
parlor he told who Zell was, and how she must have just 
come from the small-pox hospital. 

The lady (?) was in a frenzy of rage and fear. She 
rushed down to where Zell was panting with weakness and 
emotion, exclaiming, — 

“ You shameful hussy, how dare you come into a respect- 


ZELL. 349 

able house, after your loathsome life, and loathsome dis- 
ease?” 

“ Hear me,” pleaded Zell, “ the doctor said there was no 
danger, and I want to do what is right.” 

“ I don’t believe a word you say. I wouldn’t trust you a 
minute. How much you have stolen now it will be hard to 
tell, and I shouldn’t wonder if we all had the small-pox. 
Leave the house instantly.” 

Oh, please give me a chance,” cried Zell, on her knees. 
“ Indeed, I am honest. I’ll work for you for nothing, if you 
will let me stay.” * ' 

“ Leave instantly, or I will call for a policeman.” 

“ Then pay me my week’s wages,” sobbed Zell. 

I won’t pay you a cent, you brazen creature. You 
didn’t know how to do anything, and have been a torment 
ever since you came. I might have known there was some- 
thing wrong. Now go, take your old, pest-infected rags out 
of my house, or I will have you sent to where you properly 
belong. Thank Heaven, I have found you out.” 

A sudden change came over Zell. She sprang up, and a 
scowl black as night darkened her face. 

“ What has Heaven to do with your sending a poor girl 
out into the night, I would like to know?” she asked, in a 
harsh, grating voice ; “ I wouldn’t do it. Therefore I am 
better than you are. Heaven has nothing to do with either 
you or me ; ” and she looked so dark and dangerous that 
her mistress was frightened, and ran up to the parlor, 
exclaiming, — 

‘‘ She’s an awful creature. I’m afraid of her.” 

Then that manly being, her husband, towered up in his 
wrath, saying majestically, ‘‘ I guess I’m master in my own 
house yet.” 

He showed poor Zell the door. Her laugh rang out 
recklessly, as she called, — 


350 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Goodby. May the pleasant thought that you have sent 
one more soul to perdition lull you to sweet sleep.” 

But, for some reason, it did not. When they became 
cool enough to think it over, they admitted that perhaps 
they had been a “ little hasty.” 

They had a daughter of about Zell’s age. It would be a 
little hard if any one should treat her so. 

Zell had scarcely more than enough to pay her way to 
New York. It seemed that people ought to stretch out 
their hands to shield her, but they only jostled her in their 
haste. As she stood, with her bundle, in the ferry entrance 
on the New York side, undecided where to go, a man ran 
against her in his hurry. 

‘‘ Get out of the way,” he said, irritably. 

She moved out one side into the darkness, and with a 
pallid face, said, — 

“ Yes, it has come to this. I must ^ get out of the way ’ 
of all decent people. There is the river on one side. 
There are the streets on the other. Which shall it be? ” 

“ Oh ! it was pitiful, 

Near a whole city full,” 

that no hand was stretched to her aid. 

She shuddered. I can’t, I dare not die yet. It must 
be a little easier here than there, where he is.” 

Her face became like stone. She went straight to a liquor 
saloon, and drank deep of that spirit that Shakespeare called 
“devil,” in order to drown thought, fear,, memory — every 
(^estige of the woman. 

Then — the depths of the gulf that Laura shrank from 
with a dread stronger than her love of life. 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 35 1 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 

M rs. LACEY and Arden, at last, in the stress of their 
poverty, gave their consent that Rose should go to 
the city, and try to find employment in a store as a shop- 
girl. Mrs. Glibe, her dressmaking friend, went with her, 
and though they could obtain no situation the first day, one 
of Mrs. Glibe’s acquaintances directed Rose where she could 
find a respectable boarding-house, from which, as her home, 
she could continue her inquiries. Leaving her there, Mrs. 
Glibe returned. 

Rose, with a hope and courage not easily dampened, con- 
tinued her search the next day, and for several days following. 
The fall trade had not fairly commenced, and there seemed 
no demand for more help. She had thirty dollars with which 
to start life, but a week of idleness took seven of this. 

At last her fine appearance and sprightly manner induced 
the proprietor of a large establishment to put her in the 
place of a girl discharged that day, with the wages of six 
dollars a week. 

‘^We give but three or four, as a general thing, to be- 
ginners,” he said. 

Rose was grateful for the place, and yet almost dismayed 
at the prospect before her. How could she live on six dol- 
lars? The bright-colored dreams of city life were fast melt- 
ing away before the hard, and in some instances revolting, 
facts of her experience. She could have obtained situations 


352 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


in two or three instances at better wages, if she had assented 
to conditions that sent her hastily into the street with burning 
blushes and indignant tears. She knew the great city was 
full of wickedness, but this rude contact with it appalled her. 

After finding what she had to live on she exchanged her 
somewhat comfortable room, where she could have a fire, 
for a cold, cheerless attic closet in the same house. “ As I 
learn the business, they will give more,” she thought, and 
the idea of going home penniless, to be laughed at by Mrs. 
Glibe, Miss Klip, and others, was almost as bitter a prospect 
to her proud spirit as being a burden to her impoverished 
family, and she lesolved to submit to every hardship rather 
than do it. By taking the attic room she reduced her board 
to five dollars a week. 

“You can’t get it for less, unless you go to a very common 
sort of a place,” said her landlady. “ My house is respect- 
able, and people must pay a little for that.” 

In view of this fact. Rose determined to stay, if possible, 
for she was realizing more every day how unsheltered and 
tempted she was. 

Her fresh blond face, her breezy manner, and her wind- 
shaken curls made many turn to look after her. Like some 
others of her sex, perhaps she had no dislike for admiration, 
but in Rose’s position it was often shown by looks, manner, 
and even words, that, however she resented them, followed 
and persecuted her. 

As she grew to know her fellow-workers better, her heart 
sickened in disgust at the conversation and the evident life 
of many of them, and they often laughed immoderately at 
her greenness. 

Alas for the fancied superiority of these knowing girls ! 
They laughed at Rose because she was so much more like 
what God meant a woman should be than they. A weak- 
minded, shallow girl would have succumbed to their ridicule, 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 353 

and soon have become like them, but high-spirited Rose 
only despised them, and gradually sought out and found 
some companionship with those of the better sort in the 
large store. But there seemed so much hollowness and 
falsehood on every side that she hardly knew whom to trust. 

Poor Rose was quite sick of making a career for herself 
alone in the city, and her money was getting very low„ 
Shop life was hard on clothes, and she was compelled by the 
rules of the store to dress well, and was only too fond of 
dress herself. So, instead of getting money ahead, she at 
last was reduced to her wages as support, and nothing was 
said of their being raised, and she was advised to say noth- 
ing about any increase. Then she had a week’s sickness, 
and this brought her in debt to her landlady. 

Several times during her evening walks home Rose noticed 
a dark face and two vivid black eyes, that seemed watching 
her ; but as soon as observed, the face vanished. It haunted 
her with its suggestion of some one seen before. 

She went back to her work too soon after her illness, and 
had a relapse. Her respectable landlady was a woman of 
system and rules. From long experience she foresaw that 
her poor lodger would grow only more and more deeply in 
her debt. Perhaps we can hardly blame her. It was by no 
easy effort that she made ends meet as it was. She had an 
application for Rose’s little room from one who gave more 
prospect of being able to pay, so she quietly told the poor 
girl to vacate it. Rose pleaded to stay, but the woman was 
inexorable. She had passed through such scenes so often 
that they had become only one of the disagreeable phases of 
her business. 

“ Why, child,” she said, “if I did not live up to my rule 
in this respect. I’d soon be out of house and home myself. 
You can leave your things here till you find some other place.” 

So poor Rose, weak through her sickness, more weak 


354 


W.HA T CA AT SHE DO ? 


through terror, found herself out in the streets of the great 
city, utterly penniless. She was so unfamiliar with it that 
she did not know where to go, or to whom to apply. It was 
her purpose to find a cheaper boarding-house. She went 
down toward the meaner and poorer part of the city, and 
stopped at the low stoop of a house where there was a sign ; 
“ Rooms to let.” 

She was about to enter, when a hand was laid sharply on 
her arm, and some one said, — 

“ Don’t go there. Come with me, quick ! ” 

“Who are you? ” asked Rose, startled and. trembling. 

“ One who can help you now, whatever I am,” was the 
answer. “ I know you well, and all about you. You are 
Rose Lacey, and you did live in Pushton. Come with me, 
quick, and I will take you to a Christian lady whom you can 
trust. Come.” 

Rose, in her trouble and perplexity, concluded to follow 
her. They soon made their way to quite a respectable 
street, and rang the bell at the door of a plain, comfortable- 
appearing house. 

A cheery, stout, middle-aged lady opened it. She looked 
at Rose’s new friend, and reproachfully shook her finger at 
her, saying, — 

“ Naughty Zell, why did you leave the Home?” 

“ Because I am possessed by a restless devil,” was the 
strange answer. “ Besides, I can do more good in the 
streets than there. I have just saved her ” (pointing to 
Rose, who at once surmised that this was Zell Allen, though 
so changed that she would not have known her). “Now,” 
continued Zell, thrusting some money into Rose’s hand, 
“ take this and go home at once. Tell her, Mrs. Ranger, 
that this city is no place for her.” 

“If you have friends and a home to go to, it’s the very 
best thing you can do,” said the lady. 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME, 355 

But my friends are poor,” sobbed Rose. 

“ No matter, go to them,” said Zell almost fiercely. “ I 
tell you there is no place for you here, unless you wish to go 
to perdition. Go home, where you are known. Scrub, 
delve, do anything rather than stay here. Your big brother 
can and will take care of you, though he does look so cross.” 

She is right, my child ; you had better go at once,” 
said the lady, decidedly. 

“Who are you?” asked Rose of the latter speaker, with 
some curiosity. 

“I am a city missionary,” answered the lady, quietly, 
“ and it is my business to help such poor girls as you are. 
I say to you from full knowledge, and in all sincerity, to go 
home is the very best thing that you can do.” 

“ But why is there not a chance for a poor, well-meaning 
girl to earn an honest living in this great city? ” 

“Thousands are earning such a living, but there is not 
one chance in a hundred for you.” 

“Why?” asked Rose, hotly. 

“ Do you see all these houses? They are full of people,” 
continued Mrs. Ranger, “ and some of them contain many 
families. In these families there are thousands of girls who 
have a home, a shelter, and protectors here in the city. 
They have society in relatives and neighbors. They have 
no board to pay, and fathers and mothers, brothers and sis- 
ters, helping support them. They put all their earnings into 
a common fund, and it supports the family. Such girls can 
afford, and will work for two, three, four, and five dollars a 
week. All that they earn makes the burden so much less 
on the father, who otherwise would have supported them in 
idleness. Now, a homeless stranger in the city must pay 
board, and therefore they can’t compete with those who 
live here. Wages are kept too low. Not one in a hundred, 
situated as you are, can earn enough to pay board and dress 


356 


VVHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


as they are required to in the fashionable stores. Have yov 
been able? ” 

“No,” groaned Rose. “I am in debt to my landlady 
now, and I had some money to start with.” 

“There it is,” said Mrs. Ranger, sadly, “the same old 
story.” 

“ But these stores ought to pay more,” said Rose, indig- 
nantly. 

“ They will only pay for labor, as for everything else, the 
market price, and that averages but six dollars a week, and 
more are working for from three to five than for six. As I 
told you, there are thousands of girls living in the city glad 
to get a chance at any price.” 

Rose gave a weary, discouraged sigh and said, “ I fear 
you are right, I must go home. Indeed, after what has 
happened I hardly dare stay.” 

“Go,” said Zell, “as if you were leaving Sodom, and 
don’t look back.” Then she asked with a wistful, hungry 
look, “ Have you seen any of — ?” She stopped, she could 
not speak the names of her kindred. 

“Yes,” said Rose gently. (Yesterday she would have 
stood coldly aloof from Zell. To-day she was very grateful 
and full of sympathy.) “ I know they are well. They were 
all sick after — after you went away. But they got well 
again, and (Ipwering her voice) Edith prays for you night 
and day.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” sobbed Zell, “ this is torment, this is to see 
the heaven I cannot enter,” and she dashed away. 

“ Poor child ! ” said Mrs. Ranger, “ there’s an angel in 
her yet if I only knew how to bring it out. I may see her 
to-morrow, and I may not for weeks. Take the money she 
left with you, and here is some more. It v may help her, to 
think that she helped you. And now, my dear, let me see 
you safely on your way home.” 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 357 

That night the stage left Rose at the poor dilapidated 
little farm-house, and in her mother’s close embrace she felt 
the blessedness of the home shelter, however poor, and the 
protecting love of kindred, however plain. 

“Arden is away,” said the quiet woman of few words. 
“ He is home only twice a month. He has a job of cutting 
and carting wood a good way from here. We are so poor 
this winter he had to take this chance. Your father is 
doing better. I hope for him, though with fear and trem- 
bling.” 

Then Rose told her mother her experience and how she 
had been saved by Zell, and the poor woman clasped her 
daughter to her breast again and again, and with streaming 
eyes raised toward heaven, poured out her gratitude to 
God. 

“ Rose,” said she with a shudder, “ if I had not prayed 
so for you night and day, perhaps you would not have 
found such friends in your time of need. Oh ! let us 
both pray for that poor lost one, that she may be saved 
also.” 

From this day forth Rose began to pray the true prayer 
of pity, and then the true prayer of a personal faith. The 
rude, evil world had shown her her own and others’ need, 
in a way that made her feel that she wanted the Heavenly 
Father’s care. 

In other respects she took up her life for a time where 
she had left it a few months before. 

Edith was deeply moved at Rose’s story, and Zell’s wild, 
wayward steps were followed by prayers, as by a throng of 
reclaiming angels. 

“ I would go and bring her home in a moment, if I only 
knew where to find her,” said Edith. 

“ Mrs. Ranger said she would write as soon as there was 
any chance of your doing so,” said Rose. 


353 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


About the middle of January a letter came to Edith, as 
follows, — 

“ Miss Edith Allen. — Your sister, Zell, is in Bellevue Hospital, 
ward . Come quickly; she is very ill.” 

Edith took the earliest train, and was soon following an 
attendant, with eager steps, down the long ward. They 
came to a dark-eyed girl that was evidently dying, and Edith 
closed her eyes with a chill of fear. A second glance showed 
that it was not Zell, and a little farther on she saw the face 
of her sister, but so changed ! Oh ! the havoc that sin and 
wretchedness had made in that beautiful creature during a 
few short months ! She was in a state of unconscious, mut- 
tering delirium, and Edith showered kisses on the poor, 
parched lips ; her tears fell like rain on the thin, flushed 
face. Zell suddenly cried, with the girlish voice of old, — 

“ Hurrah, hurrah ! books to the shades ; no more teachers 
and tyrants for me.” 

She was living over the old life, with its old, fatal tenden- 
cies. 

Edith sat down, and sobbed as if her heart would break. 
Unnoticed, a stout, elderly lady was regarding her with eyes 
wet with sympathy. As Edith’s grief subsided somewhat 
she laid her hand on the poor girl’s shoulder, saying, — 

My child, I feel very sorry for you. For some reason I 
can’t pass on and leave you alone in your sorrow, though 
we are total strangers. Your trouble gives you a sacred 
claim upon me. What can I do for you? ” 

Edith looked up through her tears, and saw a kind, 
motherly face, with a halo of gray curls around it. With 
woman’s intuition she trusted her instantly, and, with another 
rush of tears, said, — 

“This is — my — poor lost — sister. I’ve — just found 
her.” 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 359 

Ah ! ” said the lady significantly, God pity you both.” 

“Were it not — for Him,” sobbed Edith, with her hand 
upon her aching heart, “ I believe — I should die.” 

The lady sat down by her, and took her hand, saying, “ I 
will stay with you, dear, till you feel better.” 

Gradually and delicately she drew from Edith her story, 
and her large heart yearned over the two girls in the sincer- 
est sympathy. 

“ I was not personally acquainted with your father and 
mother, but I know well who they were,” she said'. “ And 
now, my child, you cannot remain here much longer ; where 
are you going to stay? ” 

“ I haven’t thought,” said Edith, sadly. 

“ I have,” replied the lady, heartily ; “ I am going to take 
you home with me. We don’t live very far away, and you 
can come and see your sister as often as you choose, within 
the limits of the rules.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Edith, deprecatingly, “ I am not fit — 
I have no claim.” 

“ My child,” said the lady, gently, “ don’t you remember 
what our Master said, ‘ I was a stranger and ye took me in.’ 
Is He not fit to enter my house? Has He no claim? In 
taking you home I am taking Him home, and so I shall be 
happy and honored in your presence. Moreover, my dear, 
from what I have seen and heard, I am sure I shall love you 
for your own sake.” 

Edith looked at her through grateful tears, and said, “ It 
has seemed to me that Jesus has been comforting me all 
the time through your lips. How beautiful Christianity is, 
when it is /wed out. I will go to your house as if it were 
His.” 

Then she turned and pressed a loving kiss on Zell’s un- 
conscious face, but her wonder was past words when the 
lady stooped down also, and kissed the “ woman which was 


360 


WHA T CAN- SHE DO ? 


a sinner.” She seized her hand with both of hers and 
faltered, — 

“You don’t despise and shrink from her, then? ” 

“Despise her! no,” said the noble woman. “I have 
never been tempted as this poor child has. God does nof 
despise her. What am I ? ” 

From that moment Edith could have kisscvd her feet, and 
feeling that God had sent His angel to take care of her, she 
followed the lady from the hospital. A plain but elegantly- 
liveried carriage was waiting, and they were driven rapidly 
to one of the stateliest palaces on Fifth Avenue. As they 
crossed the marble threshold, the lady turned and said, — 

“ Pardon me, my dear, my name is Mrs. Hart. This is 
your home now as truly as mine while you are with us,” and 
Edith was shown to a room replete with luxurious comfort, ^ 
and told to rest till the six o’clock dinner. 

With some timidity and fear she came down to meet the 
others. As she entered she saw a portly man standing on 
the rug before the glowing grate, with a shock of white hair, 
and a genial, kindly face. 

“ My husband,” said Mrs. Hart, “ this is our new friend, 
Miss Edith Allen. You knew her father well in business, I 
am sure.” 

“ Of course I did,” said the old gentleman, taking Edith’s 
hand in both of his, “ and a fine business man he was, too. 
You are welcome to onr home. Miss Edith. Look here, 
mother,” he said, turning to his wife with a quizzical look, 
and still keeping hold of Edith’s hand, “ you didn’t bring 
home an ‘ angel unawares ’ this time. I say, wife, you won’t 
be jealous if I take a kiss now, will you — a sort of scriptural 
kiss, you know?” and he gave Edith a hearty smack that 
broke the ice between them completely. 

With a face like a peony, Edith said, earnestly, “ I am 
sure the real angels throng your home.” 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 36 1 

“ Hope they do,” said Mr. Hart, cheerily. ‘ My old lady 
there is the best one I have seen yet, but I am ready for all 
the rest. Here come some of them,” he added, as his 
daughters entered, and to each one he gave a hearty kiss, 
counting, “one, two, three, four, five — now, ‘all present or 
accounted for ? ’ ” 

“ Yes,” said his wife, laughing. 

“ Dinner, then,” and after the young ladies had greeted 
Edith most cordially, he gave her his arm, as if she had been 
a duchess, and escorted her to the dining-room. After being 
seated, they bowed their heads in quiet reverence, and the 
old man, with the voice and manner of a child speaking to 
a father, thanked God for His mercies, and invoked His 
blessing. 

The table-talk was genial and wholesome, with now and 
then a sparkle of wit, or a broad gleam of humor. 

“ My good wife there. Miss Edith,” said Mr. Hart, with a 
twinkle in his eye, is a very sly old lady. If she does wear 
spectacles, she sees with great discrimination, or else the 
world is growing so full of interesting saints and sinners, that 
I am quite in hopes of it. Every day she has a new story 
about some very good person, or some very bad person be- 
coming good. If you go on this way much longer, mother, 
the millennium will commence before the doctors of divinity 
are ready for it.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Hart, with a comic aside to Edith, 
“ my husband has never got over being a boy. When he 
will become old enough to sober down, I am sure I can’t 
tell.” 

“ What have I to sober me, with all these happy faces 
around, I should like to know? ” was the hearty retort. “ I 
am having a better time every day, and mean to go on so 
ad infinitum. You’re a good one to talk about sobering 
down, when you laugh more than any of these youngsters.” 


362 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


said his wife, her substantial form quivering with 
merriment, “ it’s because you make me.” 

During the meal Edith had time to observe the young 
ladies more closely. They were fine looking, and one or 
two of them really beautiful. Two of them were in early 
girlhood yet, and there was not a vestige of the vanity and 
affectation often seen in those of their position. They evi- 
dently had wide diversities of character, and faults, but there 
were the simplicity and sincerity about them which make the 
difference between a chaste piece of marble and a painted 
block of wood. She saw about her a house as rich and 
costly in its appointments as her own old home had been, 
but it was not so crowded or pronounced in its furnishing 
and decoration. There were fewer pictures, but finer ones ; 
and in all matters of art, French taste was not prominent, as 
had been the case in her home. 

The next day she sat by unconscious Zell as long as was 
permitted, and wrote fully to Laura. 

The dark-eyed girl that seemed dying the day before was 
gone. 

Did she die?” she asked of an attendant. 

‘‘ Yes.” 

What did they do with her?” 

Buried her in Potter’s Field.” 

Edith shuddered. It would have been Zell’s end,” she 
thought, “if I hadn’t found her, and she had died here alone.” 

That evening Mrs. Hart, as they all sat in her own private 
parlor, said to her daughters, — 

“ Girls, away with you. I can’t move a step without 
stumbling over one of you. You are always crowding into 
my sanctum, as if there was not an inch of room for you 
anywhere else. Vanish. I want to talk to Edith.” 

“ It’s your own fault that we crowd in here, mother,” said 
the eldest. “ You are the loadstone that draws us.” 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 363 

“ I’ll get a lot of stones to throw at you and drive you out 
with,” said the old lady, with mock severity. 

The youngest daughter precipitated herself on her mother’s 
neck, exclaiming, — 

“ Wouldn’t that be fun, to see jolly old mother throwing 
stones at us. She would wrap them in eider-down first.” 

“Scamper; the whole bevy of you,” said the old lady, 
laughing ; and Edith, with a sigh, contrasted this “ mother’s 
room ” with the one which she and her sisters shunned as 
the place where their “ teeth were set on edge.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Hart, her face becoming grave and 
troubled, “ there is one thing in my Christian work that dis- 
courages me. We reclaim so few of the poor girls that have 
gone astray. I understand, from Mrs. Ranger, that your 
sister was at the Home, but that she left it. How can we 
accomplish more? We do everything we can for them.” 

“ I don’t think earthly remedies can meet their case,” 
said Edith, in a low tone. 

“I agree with you,” said Mrs. Hart, earnestly, “but we 
do give them religious instruction.” 

“ I don’t think religious instruction is sufficient,” Edith 
answered. “ They need a Saviour.” 

“ But we do tell them about Jesus.” 

“ Not always in a way that they understand, I fear,” said 
Edith, sadly. “ I have heard people tell about Him as they 
would about Socrates, or Moses, or Paul. We don’t need 
facts about Him so much as Jesus Himself. In olden time 
people did not go to their sick and troubled friends and tell 
them that Jesus was in Capernaum, and that He was a great 
deliverer. They brought the poor, helpless creatures right 
to Him. They laid them right at the feet of a personal 
Saviour, and He helped them. Do we do this? I have 
thought a great deal about it,” continued Edith, “and it 
seems to me that more associate the ideas of duty, restraint, 


3^4 


W//A T CAN S/IE DO? 


and almost impossible effort with Him, than the ideas of 
help and sympathy. It was so with me. 1 know, at first.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said Mrs. Hart thoughtfully. 
“ The poor creatures to whom I referred seemed more afraid 
of God than anything else.” 

“ And yet, of all that ever lived, Jesus was the most tender 
toward them — the most ready to forgive and save. Believe 
me, Mrs. Hart, there was more gospel in the kiss you gave 
my sister — there was more of Jesus Christ in it, than in all 
the sermons ever written, and I am sure that if she had 
been conscious, it would have saved her. They must, as it 
were, the hand of love and power that lifted Peter out of 
the ingulfing waves. The idea of duty and sturdy self-re- 
straint is perhaps too much emphasized, while they, poor 
tilings, are weak as water. They are so ‘ lost ’ that He must 
just ‘ seek and save ’ them, as He said — lift therri up — keep 
them up almost in spite of themselves. Saved — that is the 
word, as the limp, helpless form is dragged out of danger. 
On account of my sister I have thought a good deal about 
this subject, and there seems to me to be no remedy for this 
class, save in the merciful, patient, personal Saviour. He 
had wonderful power over them when He was on earth, and 
He would have the same now, if His people could make 
them understand Him.” 

“ I think few of us understand this personal Saviour our- 
selves as we ought,” said Mrs. Hart, somewhat unveiling her 
own experience. “The Romish Church puts the Virgin, 
saints, penances, and I know not what, between the sinner 
and Jesus, and we put catechisms, doctrines, and a great 
mass of truth about them, between Him and us. I doubt 
whether many of us, like the beloved disciple, have leaned 
our heads on His heart of love, and felt its throbs. Too 
much of the time He seems in Heaven to me, not here.” 

“ I never had much religious instruction,” said Edith, 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 365 

simply. I found Him in the New Testament, as people 
of old found Him in Palestine, and I went to Him, just as I 
was, and He has been such a Friend and Helper. He lets 
me sit at His feet like Mary, and the words He spoke seem 
said directly to poor little me.” 

Wistful tears came into Mrs. Hart’s eyes, and she kissed 
Edith, saying, — 

“ I have been a Christian forty years, my child, but you 
are nearer to Him than I am. Stay close to His side. 
This talk has done me more good than I imagined pos- 
sible.” 

If I seem nearer,” said Edith, gently, “ isn’t it, perhaps, 
because I am weaker than you are ? His ‘ sheep follow ’ Him, 
but isn’t there some place in the Bible about his ‘ carrying 
the lambs in His bosom ’ ? I think we shall find at last that 
He was nearer to us all than we thought, and that His arm 
of love was around us all the time.” 

In a sudden, strong impulse, Mrs. Hart embraced Edith, 
and, looking upward, exclaimed, — 

“ Truly ‘ Thou hast hid these things from the wise and 
prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.’ As my 
husband said, I am entertaining a good angel.” 

The physician gave Edith great encouragement about Zell, 
and told her that in two weeks he thought she might be 
moved. The fever was taking a light form. 

One evening, after listening to some superb music from 
Annie, the second daughter, between whom and Edith quite 
an affinity seemed to develop itself, the latter said, — 

How finely you play ! I think you are wonderful for an 
amateur.” 

I am not an amateur,” replied Annie, laughing. '' Music 
is my profession.” 

“ I don’t understand,” said Edith. 

Father has made me stud}'- music as a science,” explained 


366 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Annie. “ I could teach it to-morrow. All of us girls are to 
have a profession. Ella, my eldest sister, is studying draw- 
ing and painting. Here is a portfolio of her sketches.” 

Even Edith’s unskilled eyes could see that she had made 
great proficiency. 

“ Ella could teach drawing and coloring at once,” con- 
tinued Annie, “ for she has studied the rules and principles 
very carefully, and given great attention to the rudiments of 
art, instead of having a teacher help her paint a few show 
pictures. But I know very little about it, for I haven’t 
much taste that way. Father has us educated according to 
our tastes ; that is, if we show a little talent for any one 
thing, he has us try to perfect ourselves in that one thing. 
Julia is the linguist, and can jabber French and German 
like natives. Father also insisted on our being taught the 
common English branches very thoroughly, and he says he 
could get us situations to teach within a month, if it were 
necessary.” 

Edith sighed deeply as she thought how superficial theii 
education had been, but she said rather slyly to Annie, But 
you are engaged. I think your husband will veto the music- 
teaching.” 

Oh, well,” said Annie, laughing, Walter may fail, or get 
sick, or something may happen. So you see we shouldn’t 
have to go to the poor-house. Besides, there’s a sort of 
satisfaction in knowing one thing pretty well. But the half 
is not told you, and I suppose you will think father and 
mother queer people ; indeed most of our friends do. For 
mother has had a milliner come to the house, and a 
dressmaker, and a hair-dresser, and whatever we have any 
knack at she has made us learn well, some one thing, and 
some another. Wouldn’t I like to dress your long hair I ” 
continued the light-hearted girl. “1 would make you so 
^ bewitching that you would break a dozen hearts in one 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 367 

evening. Then mother has taught us how to cook, and to 
make bread and cake and preserves, and Ella and I have 
to take turns in keeping house, and marketing, and keeping 
account of the living expenses. The rest of the girls are at 
school yet. Mother says she is not going to palm off any 
irauds in her daughters when they get married ; and if we 
only turn out half as good as she is, our husbands will be 
lucky men, if I do say it ; and if all of us don’t get any, we 
can take care of ourselves. Father has been holding you 
up as an example of what a girl can do, if she has to make 
her own way in the world.” 

And the sprightly, but sensible, girl would have rattlecT 
on indefinitely, had not Edith fled to her room in an uncon- 
trollable rush of sorrow over the sad, sad, “ It might have 
been.” 

One afternoon Annie came into Edith’s room, saying, “ I 
am going to dress your hair. Yes, I will — now don’t say a 
word, I want to. W e expect two or three friends in — one 
you’ll be glad to see. No, I won’t tell you who it is. It’s a 
surprise.” And she flew at Edith’s head, pulled out the 
hair-pins, and went to work with a dexterity and rapidity 
that did credit to her training. In a little while she had 
crowned Edith with nature’s most exquisite coronet. 

A cloud of care seemed to rest on Mr. Hart’s brow as 
they entered the dining-room, but he banished it instantly, 
and with the quaint, stately gallantry of the old school, pre- 
tended to be deeply smitten with Edith’s loveliness. And 
so lovely she appeared that their eyes continually returned, 
and rested admiringly on her, till at last the blushing girl 
remonstrated, — 

“ You all keep looking at me so that I feel as if I were 
the dessert, and you were going to eat me up pretty soon.” 

'' I speak for the biggest bite,” cried Mr. Hart, and they 
laughed at her and petted her so that she said, — - 


368 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ I feel as if I had known you all ten years.’^ 

But ever and anon, Edith saw traces of the cloud of care 
that she had noticed at first. And so did Mrs. Hart, for 
she said, — 

You have been a little anxious about business lately. 
Is there anything new? ” 

No,” said Mr. Hart, who, in contrast to Mr. Allen, 
talked business to his family ; “ things are only growing a 
little worse. There have been one or two bad failures to- 
day. The worst of it all is, there seems a general lack of 
confidence. No one knows what is going to happen. One 
feels as if in a thunder-shower. The lightning may strike 
him, and it may fall somewhere else. But don’t worry, 
good mother, I am as safe as a man can be. I have a 
round million in my safe ready for an emergency.” 

The wife knew just where her husband stood that night. 

At nine o’clock, Edith was talking earnestly with Mrs. 
Ranger, whom she had expressed a wish to see. There 
were a few other people present of the very highest social 
standing, and intimate friends of the family, for her kind 
entertainers would not expose her to any strange and un- 
sympathetic eyes. Annie was flitting about, -the very spirit 
of innocent mischief and match-making, gloating over the 
pleasure she expected to give Edith. 

The bell rang, and a moment later she marshalled in Gus 
Elliot, as handsome and exquisitely dressed as ever. He 
was as much in the dark as to whom he should see as Edith. 
Some one had told Annie of his former devotedness to 
Edith, and so she innocently meant to do both a kindness. 
Having a slight acquaintance with Elliot, as a general society 
man, she invited him this evening to ‘‘ meet an old friend.” 
He gladly accepted, feeling it a great honor to visit at the 
Harts’. 

He saw Edith a moment before she observed him, and 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME, 369 

had time to note her exquisite beauty. But he turned pale 
with fear and anxiety in regard to his reception. 

Then she raised her eyes and saw him. The blood 
rushed in a hot torrent to her face, and then left it in 
extreme pallor. Gus advanced with all the ease and grace 
that he could command under the circumstances, and held 
out his hand. “She cannot refer to the past here before 
them all,” he thought. 

But Edith rose slowly, and fixed her large eyes, that 
glowed like coals of fire, sternly upon him, and put her 
hand behind her back. 

All held their breath in awe-struck expectation. She 
seemed to see only him and the past, and to forget all the 
rest. 

“No, sir,” she said, in a low, deep voice, that curdled 
Gus’s blood, “ I cannot take your hand. I might in pity, if 
you were in the depths of poverty and trouble, as I have been, 
but not here and thus. Do you know where my sister is? ” 

“ No,” faltered Gus, his knees trembling under him. 

“She is in Bellevue Hospital. A poor girl was carried 
thence to Potter’s Field a day or two since. She might have 
been if I had not found her. And,” continued Edith, with 
her face darkening like night, and her tone deepening till it 
sent a thrill of dread to the hearts of all present, “/;/ 
Potter’s Field / might now have been if I had listened to 
you.” 

Gus trembled before her in a way that plainly confirmed 
her words. 

With a grand dignity she turned to Mrs. Hart, saying, 
“ Please excuse my absence ; I cannot breathe the same air 
with him,” and she was about to sweep from the parlor like 
an incensed goddess, when Mr. Hart sprang up, his eyes 
blazing with anger, and putting his arm around Edith, said 
sternly, — 


370 


WHA T CAN SHE DO / 


“ I would shield this dear girl as my own daughter. 
Leave this house, and never cross my threshold again.” 

Gus slunk away without a word. As the guilty will be at 
last, he was “ speechless.” So, in a moment, when least ex- 
pecting it, he fell from his heaven, which was society : for 
the news of his baseness spread like wildfire, and within a 
week every respectable door was closed against him. 

Is it cynical to say that the well-known and widely-hon- 
ored Mr. Hart, in closing his door, had influence as well as 
Gus’s sin, in leading some to close theirs? Motives in 
society are a little mixed, sometimes. 

Mr. Hart went down town the next morning, a little 
anxious, it is true, on general principles, but not in the least 
apprehensive of any disaster. I may have to pay out a 
few hundred thousand,” he thought, “but that won’t trouble 
me.” 

But the bolt of financial suspicion was directed toward 
him ; how, he could not tell. Within half an hour after 
opening, checks for twelve hundred thousand were pre- 
sented at his counter. He telegraphed to his wife, “ A run 
upon me.” Later, “ Danger ! ” Then came the words to 
the up-town palace, “ Have suspended 1 ” In the after- 
noon, “The storm will sweep me bare, but courage, God, 
and our right hands, will make a place and a way for us.” 

The business community sympathized deeply with Mr. 
Hart. Hard, cool men of Wall Street came in, and, with 
eyes moist with sympathy, wrung his hand. He stood up 
through the wild tumult, calm, dignified, heroic, because 
conscious of rectitude. 

“The shrinkage in securities will be great, I fear,” he 
said, “ but I think my assets will cover all liabilities. We 
will give up everything.” 

When he came up home in the evening, he looked worn, 
and much older than in the morning, but his wife and 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME. 37 1 


daughters seemed to envelop him in an atmosphere of 
love and sympathy. They were so strong, cheerful, hope- 
ful, that they infused their courage into him. Annie ran to 
the piano, and played as if inspired, saying to her father, — 

“ Let every note tell you that we can take care of our- 
selves, and you and mother too, if necessary.” 

The words were prophetic. The strain had been too 
great oi> Mr. Hart. That night he had a stroke of paraly- 
sis and became helpless. But he had trained his daughters 
to be the very reverse of helpless, and they did take 
care of him with the most devoted love and skilled prac- 
tical energy, making the weak, brief remnant of his life 
not a burden, but a peaceful evening after a glorious day. 
They all, except the youngest, soon found employment, for 
they brought superior skill and knowledge to the labor 
market, and such are ever in demand. Annie soon married 
happily, and her younger sisters eventually followed her 
example. But Ella, the eldest, remained single ; and, 
though she i^ever became eminent as an artist, did become 
a very useful and respected teacher of art, as studied in our 
schools for its refining influence. 

To return to Edith, she felt for her kind friends almost as 
much as if she were one of the family. 

Do not feel that you must go away because of what has 
happened,” said Mrs. Hart. “ I am glad to have you with 
us, for you do us all good. Indeed, you seem one of us. 
Stay as long as you can, dear, and God help us both to bear 
our burdens.” 

Dear, ^heavy-laden’ Mrs. Hart,” said Edith, “Jesus 
will bear the burdens for us, if we will let Him.” 

“ Bless you, child, I am sure He sent you to me.” 

As Edith entered the ward that day, the attendant said, 
“ She’s herself, miss, at last.” 

Edith stole noiselessly to Zell’s cot. She was sleeping. 


372 


WHA T CAN SHE DO? 


Edith sat down silently and watched for her waking. At 
last she opened her eyes and glanced fearfully around. 
Then she saw Edith, and instantly shrank and cowered as if 
expecting a blow. 

“ Zell,” said Edith, taking the poor, thin hand, “ O Zell, 
don’t you know me? ” 

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Zell, in a 
voice full of dread. 

“ Take you to my home — take you to my heart — take 
you deeper into my love than ever before.” 

“ Edith,” said Zell, almost cowering before her words as 
if they hurt her, “ I am not fit to go home.” 

“ O Zell, darling,” said Edith, tenderly, “ God’s love does 
not keep a debit and credit account with us, neither should 
we with each other. Can’t you see that I love you? ” and 
she showered kisses on her sister’s now pallid face. 

But Zell acted as if they were a source of pain to her, and 
she muttered, “ You don’t know, you can’t know. Don’t 
speak of God to me, I fear Him unspeakably.” 

“ I do know all,” said Edith, earnestly, “ and I love you 
more fondly than ever I did before, and God knows and 
loves you more still.” 

“ I tell you you don’t know,” said Zell, almost fiercely. 
“ You can’t know. If you did, you would spit on me and 
leave me for ever. God knows, and He has doomed me to 
hell, Edith,” she added, in a hoarse whisper. “ I killed 
him — you know whom. And I promised that after I got 
old and ugly I would come and torment him for ever. I 
must keep my promise.” 

Edith wept bitterly. This was worse than delirium. She 
saw that her sister’s nature was so bruised and perverted, 
so warped, that she was almost insane. She slowly rallied 
back into physical strength, but her hectic cheek and slight 
cough indicated the commencement of consumption. Her 


EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME, 3/3 

mind remained in the same unnatural condition, and she 
kept saying to Edith, “ You don’t know anything about it at 
all. You can’t know.” She would not see Mrs. Hart, and 
agreed to go home with Edith only on condition that no 
one should see or speak with her outside the family. 

At last the day of departure came. Mrs. Hart said, You 
shall take her to the depot in my carriage. It will be 
among its last and best uses.” 

Edith kissed her kind friend goodby, saying, “ God will 
send his chariot for you some day, and though you must 
leave this, your beautiful home, if you could only have a 
glimpse into the mansion preparing for you up there, antici- 
pation would almost banish all thoughts of present loss.” 

“ Well, dear,” said Mrs. Hart, with a gleam of her old 
humor, “ I hope your ‘ mansion ’ will be next door, for I 
shall want to see you often through all eternity.” 

Then Edith knelt before Mr. Hart’s chair, and the old 
man’s helpless hands were lifted upon her head, and he 
looked to heaven for the blessing he could not speak. 

“ Our ways diverge now, but they will all meet again. 
Home is near to you,” she whispered in his ear as she kissed 
him goodby. 

The old glad light shone in his eyes, the old cheery smile 
flitted across his lips, and thus she left him who had been 
the great, rich banker, serene, happy, and rich in a faith 
that could not be lost in any financial storm, or destroyed 
by disease, or enfeebled by age, — she left him waiting as a 
little child to go home. 


374 


WHA T CAN SHE DO i 


# 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 


EDITH’S GREAT TEMPTATION. 


HOUGH even Mrs. Allen was tearful and kind in her 



1 greeting, and Laura warm and affectionate in the ex- 
treme, old Hannibal’s welcome, so frank, genuine, and 
innocent, seemed to soften Zell more than any one’s else. 

“ You poor, heavenly-minded old fool,” she said, with an 
unwonted tear in her eye, “ you don’t know any better.” 

Then she seemed to settle down into a dreamy apathy ; 
to sit moping around in shadowy places. She had a horror 
of meeting any one, even Mrs. Lacey and Rose, and would 
not go out till after night. Edith saw, more and more 
clearly, that she was almost insane in her shame and despair, 
and that she would be a terrible burden to them all if she 
remained in such a condition ; but her love and patience 
did not fail. They would, had they not been daily fed from 
heavenly sources. “ I must try to show her Jesus’ love 
through mine,” she thought. 

Poor Edith, the great temptation of her life was soon to 
assail her. It was aimed at her weakest yet noblest side, her 
young enthusiasm and spirit of self-sacrifice for others. And 
yet, it was but the natural fruit of woman’s helplessness and 
Mrs. Allen’s policy of marrying one’s way out of poverty 
and difficulty. 

Simon Crowl had ostensibly made a very fair transaction 
with Edith, but Simon Crowl was a widower at the time, and 
on the lookout for a wife. He was a pretty sharp business- 


EDITH'S GEE AT TEMPTATION. 375 

man, Crowl was, or he wouldn’t have become so rich in little 
Pushton, and he at once was satisfied that Edith, so beauti- 
ful, so sensible, would answer. Through the mortgage he 
might capture her, as it were, for even his vanity did not 
promise him much success in the ordinary ways of love- 
making. So the spider spun his web, and unconscious Edith 
was the poor little fly. During the summer he watched her 
closely, but from a distance. During the autumn and winter 
he commenced calling, ostensibly on Mrs. Allen, whom he 
at once managed to impress with the fact that he was very 
rich. Though he brushed up his best coat and manners, 
that delicate-nosed lady scented an air and manner very^ 
different from what she had been accustomed to, but she 
was half-dead with ennui, and, after all, there was something 
akin between worldly Mrs. Allen and worldly Mr. Crowl. 
Then, he was very rich. This had covered a multitude of sins 
on the avenue. But, in the miserable poverty of Pushton, 
it was a golden mantle of light. Mrs. Allen chafed at priva- 
tion and want of delicacies, with the increasing persistency 
of an utterly weak and selfish nature. She had no faith in 
Edith’s plans, and no faith in woman’s working, and the 
garden seemed the wildest dream of all. Her hard, narrow 
logic, constantly dinned into Edith’s ears, discouraged her, 
and she began to doubt herself. 

Mr. Crowl (timid lover) had in Edith’s absence con- 
firmed his previous hints, thrown out to Mrs. Allen as feelers, 
by making a definite proposition. In brief, he had offered 
to settle twenty-five thousand dollars on Edith the day she 
married him, and to take care of the rest of the family. 

I have made enough,” he said majestically, to live the 
rest of my life like a gentleman, and this offer is princely, if 
I say it myself. You can all ride in your carriage again.” 
Then he added, with his little black eyes growing hard and 
cunning, If your daughter won’t accept my generosity, our 


3/6 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


relationship becomes merely one of business. Of course I 
shall foreclose. Money is scarce here, and I shall probably 
be able to buy in the place at half its worth. Seems to me,” 
he concluded, looking at the case from his valuation of 
money, “ there is not much room for choice here.” 

And Mr. Growl had been princely — for him. Mrs. Allen 
thought so too, and lent herself to the scheme with all the 
persistent energy that she could show in these matters. But, 
to do her justice, she really thought she was doing what was 
best for Edith and all of them. She was acting in accord- 
ance with her life-long principle of providing for her family, 
in the one way she believed in and understood. But sincer- 
ity and singleness of purpose made her all the more danger- 
ous as a tempter. 

In one of Edith’s most discouraged moods she broached 
the subject and explained Mr. Growl’s offer, for he, prudent 
man, had left it to her. 

Edith started violently, and the project was so revolting 
to her that she fled from the room. But Mrs. Allen, with 
her small pertinacity, kept recurring to it at every opportu- 
nity. Though it may seem a little strange, her mother’s 
action did not so shock Edith as some might expect ; nor 
did the proposition seem so impossible as it might to some 
girls. She had all her life been accustomed, through her 
mother, to the idea of marrying for money, and we can get 
used to almost anything. 

In March their money was very low. Going to Zell and 
taking care of her had involved much additional expense. 
She found out that her mother had already accepted and 
used in part a loan of fifty dollars from Mr. Growl. Laura, 
from the long confinement of the winter, and from living 
on fare too coarse and lacking in nutrition for her delicate 
organization, was growing very feeble. Zell seemed in the 
first stages of consumption, and would soon be a sick, help- 


ED I TIPS GEE AT TEAIPTATION. 


377 

less burden. The chill of dread grew stronger at Edith’s 
heart. 

“ Oh, can it be possible that I shall be driven to it ! ” she 
often groaned ; and she now saw, as poor Laura said, “ the 
black hand in the dark pushing her down.” To her surprise 
her thoughts kept reverting to Arden Lacey. 

'‘What will he think of me if I do this?” she thought, 
with intense bitterness. " He will tell me I was not worthy 
of his friendship, much less of his love — that I deceived 
him j ” and the thought of Arden, after all, perhaps, had the 
most weight in restraining her from the fatal step. For then, ' 
to her perverted sense of duty, this marriage began to seem 
like an heroic self-sacrifice. 

She had seen little of Arden since her return. He was 
kind and respectful as ever, outwardly, but she saw in his 
deep blue eyes that she was the divinity that he still wor- 
shipped with unfaltering devotion, and as she once smiled at 
the idea of being set up as an idol in his heart, she now 
began unspeakably to dread falling from her pedestal. 

One dreary day, the last of March, when sleet and rain 
were pouring steadily down, and Laura was sick in her bed, 
and Zell moping with her hacking cough over the fire, with 
Hannibal in the kitchen, Mrs. Allen turned suddenly to Edith, 
and said, — 

" On some such day we shall all be turned into the street. 
You could save us, you could save yourself, by taking a 
kind, rich man for your lawful husband ; but you won’t.” 

Then Satan, who is always on hand when we are weakest, 
quoted Scripture to Edith as he had done once before. The 
words flashed into her mind, “ He saved others, himself he 
cannot save.” 

In a wild moment of mingled enthusiasm and desperation, 
she sprang up before her mother, and said, — 

" If I can’t pay the interest of the mortgage — if I can’t 


3/8 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


take care of you all by some kind of work, I will marry him. 
But if you have a spark of love for me, save, economize, try 
to think of some other wayi” 

Mrs. Allen smiled triumphantly, and tried in her gratitude 
to embrace her daughter, saying, A kind husband will soon 
lift all burdens off your shoulders.” The burden on the 
heart Mrs. Allen did not understand, but Edith fled from 
her to her own room. 

In a little while her excitement and enthusiasm died 
away, and life began to look gaunt and bare. Even her 
Saviour’s face seemed hidden, and she only saw an ugly 
spectre in the future — Simon Growl. 

In vain she repeated to herself, “He sacrificed Himself 
for others — so will I.” The nature that He had given her 
revolted at it all, and though she could not understand it, 
she began to find a jarring discord between herself and all 
things. 

Mrs. Allen told Mr. Growl of her success, and he looked 
upon things as settled. He came to the house quite often, 
but did not stay long or assume any familiarity with Edith. 
He was a wary old spider ; and under Mrs. Allen’s hints, 
behaved and looked very respectably. He certainly did the 
best he could not to appear hideous to Edith, and though 
she was very cold, she compelled herself to treat him civilly. 

Perhaps many might have considered Edith’s chance a 
very good one ; but with an almost desperate energy she 
set her mind at work to find some other way out of her 
painful straits. Everything, however, seemed against her. 
Mr. McTrump was sick with inflammatory rheumatism. 
Mrs. Groody was away, and would not be back till the last 
of May. On account of Arden she could not speak to 
Mrs. Lacey. She tried in vain to get work, but at that 
season there was nothing in Pushton which she could do. 
Farmers were beginning to get out a little on their wet lands, 


EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATIOH. 


379 


and various out-of-door activities to revive after the winter 
stagnation. Moreover, money was very scarce at that season 
of the year. She at last turned to the garden as her only 
resource. She realized that she had scarcely money enougli 
to carry them through May. Could she get returns from 
her garden in time? Could it be made to yield enough 
to support them? With an almost desperate energy she 
worked in it whenever the weather permitted through April, 
and kept Hannibal at it also. Indeed, she had little mercy 
on the old man, and he wondered at her. One day he 
ventured, — 

“ Miss Edie, you jes done kill us both,” but his wonder 
increased as she muttered, — 

“ Perhaps it would be the best thing for us both.” Then, 
seeing his panic-stricken face, she added more kindly, 

Hannibal, our money is getting low, and the garden is 
our only chance.” 

After that he worked patiently without a word and with- 
out a thought of sparing himself. 

Edith insisted on the closest economy in the house, 
though she was too sensible to stint herself in food in view 
of her constant toil. But one day she detected Mrs. Allen, 
with her small cunning and her determination to carry her 
point, practising a little wastefulness. Edith turned on her 
with such fierceness that she never dared repeat the act. 
Indeed, Edith was becoming very much what she was before 
Zell ran away, only in addition there was something akin, at 
times, to Zell’s own hardness and recklessness, and one day 
she said to Edith, — 

“What is the matter? You are becoming like me.” 

Edith fled to her room, and sobbed and cried and tried 
to pray till her strength was gone. The sweet trust and 
peace she had once enjoyed seemed like a past dream. She 
was learning by bitter experience that it can never be right 


38 o 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


to do wrong j and that a first false step, like a false premise, 
leads to sad conclusions. 

She had insisted that her mother should not speak of the 
matter till it became absolutely necessary, therefore Laura, 
Zell, and none of her friends could understand her. 

Arden was the most puzzled and pained of all, foi* she 
shrank from him with increasing dread. He was now back 
at his farm work, though he said to, Edith one day despond- 
ently that he had no heart to work, for the mortgage on 
their place would probably be foreclosed in the fall. She 
longed to tell him how she was situated, but she saw he was 
unable to help her, and she dreaded to see the scorn come 
into his trusting, loving eyes ; she could not endure his 
absolute confidence in her, and in his presence her heart 
ached as if it would break, so she shunned him till he grew 
very unhappy, and sighed, — 

‘^There’s something wrong. She finds I am not con- 
genial. I shall lose her friendship,” and his aching heart 
also admitted, as never before, how dear it was to him. 

Nature was awakening with the rapture of another spring; 
birds were coming back to old haunts with ecstatic songs ; 
flowers budding into their brief but exquisite life, and the 
trees aglow with fragrant prophecies of fruit ; but a winter 
of fear and doubt was chilling these two hearts into some- 
thing far worse than nature’s seeming death. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


SAVED. 

E DITH’S efforts still to help Zell to better things were 
very pathetic, considering how unhappy and tempted 
she was herself. She did try, even when her own heart was 
breaking, to bring peace and hope to the poor creature, but 
she was taught how vain her efforts were, in her present 
mood, by Zell’s saying, sharply, — 

“ Physician, heal thyself.” 

Though Zell did not understand Edith, she saw that she 
wa^: almost as unhappy as herself, and she had lost hope in 
everybody and everything. Though she had not admitted 
it, Edith’s words and kindness at first had excited her 
wonder, and, perhaps, a faint glimmer of hope ; but, as she 
saw her sister’s face cloud with care, and darken with pain 
and fear, she said, bitterly, — 

Why did she talk with me so ? It wa:: all a delusion. 
What is God doing for her any more than for me ? ” 

But, in order to give Zell occupation, and something to 
think about beside herself, Edith had induced her to take 
charge of the flowers in the garden. 

‘^They won’t grow for me,” Zell had said at first. “They 
will wither when I look at them, and white blossoms will 
turn black as I bend over them.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Edith, with irritation ; “ won’t you do 
anything to help me? ” 

“ Oh, certainly,” wearily answered Zell. “ I will do the 


382 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


work just as you tell me. If they do die, it don’t matter. 
We can’t eat or sell them.” So Zell began to take care of 
the flowers, doing the work in a stealthy manner, and hiding 
when any one came. 

The month of May was unusually warm, and Edith was 
glad, for it would hasten things forward. That upon which 
she now bent almost agonized effort and thought was the pos- 
sibility of paying the interest on the mortgage by the middle 
of June, when it was due. All hope concentrated on her 
strawberries, as they would be the first crop worth mentioning 
that she could depend on from her place. She gave the 
plants the most careful attention. Not a weed was suffered to 
grow, and between the rows she placed carefully, with her own 
hands, leaves she raked up in the orchard, so that the ground 
might be kept moist and the fruit clean. Almost every hour 
of the day her eyes sought the strawberry- bed, as the source 
of her hope. If that failed her, no bleeding human sacrifice 
in all the cruel past could surpass in agony her fate. 

The vines began to blossom with great promise, and at 
first she almost counted them in her eager expectation. 
Then the long rows looked like little banks of snow, and she 
exulted over the prospect. Laura was once about to pick 
one of the blossoms, but she stopped her almost fiercely. 
She would get up in the night, and stand gazing at the lines 
of white, as she could trace them in the darkness across the 
garden. So the days passed on till the last of May, and the 
blossoms grew scattering, but there were multitudes of little 
green berries, from the size of a pea to that of her thimble, 
and some of them began to have a white look. She so 
minutely watched them develop that she could have almost 
defined the progress day by day. Once Zell looked at her 
wonderingly, and said, — 

‘‘ Edith, you are crazy over that strawberry-bed. I believe 
you worship it.” 


SA VED. 385 

For a time Edith’s hopes daily rose higher as the vines 
gave finer promise, but during the last week of May a new 
and terrible source of danger revealed itself, a danger that 
she knew not how to cope with — drought. 

It had not rained since the middle of May. She saw that 
many of her young and tender vegetables were wilting, but 
the strawberries, mulched with leaves, did not appear to 
mind it at first. Still she knew they would suffer soon, un 
less there was rain. Most anxiously she watched the skies. 
Their serenity mocked her when she was so clouded with care. 
Wild storms would be better than these balmy, sunny days. 

The first of June came, the second, third, and fourth, and 
here and there a berry was turning red, but the vines were 
beginning to wilt. The suspense became so great she could 
hardly endure it. Her faith in God began to waver. Every 
breath almost was a prayer for rain, but the sunny days passed 
like mocking smiles. 

“Is there a God?” she queried desperately. “Can I 
have been deceived in all my past happy experience? ” She 
shuddered at the answer that the tempter suggested, and yet, 
like a drowning man, she still clung to her faith. 

During the long evenings, she and Hannibal sought to save 
the bed by carrying water from the well, but they could do 
so little, it only seemed to show them how utterly depend- 
ent they were on the natural rain from heaven ; but the 
skies seemed laughing at her pain and fear. Moreover, she 
noticed that those they watered appeared injured rather than 
helped, as is ever the case where it is insufficiently done, and 
she saw that she must helplessly wait. 

Arden Lacey had been away for a week, and, returning in 
the dusk of the evening, saw her at work watering, before she 
had come to this conclusion. His heart was hungry, even 
for the sight of her, and he longed for her to let him stop for 
a little chat as of old. So he said, timidly, — 


384 


WffA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Good evening, Miss Allen, haven’t you a word to wel- 
come me back with? ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Edith, not heeding his salutation, why 
don’t it rain ! I shall lose all my strawberries.” 

His voice jarred upon her heart, now too full, and she ran 
into the house to hide her feelings, and left him. Even the 
thought of him now, in her morbid state, began to pierce her 
like a sword. 

^‘She thinks more of her paltry strawberry-bed than of 
me,” muttered Arden, and he stalked angrily homeward. 
‘‘What is the matter with Miss Allen?” he asked his mother 
abruptly. “ I don’t understand her.” 

“Nor I either,” said Mrs. Lacey with a sigh. 

The next morning was very warm, and Edith saw that the 
day would be hotter than any that preceded. A dry wind 
sprang up and it seemed worse than the sun. The vines 
began to wither early after the coolness of the night, and 
those she had watered suffered the most, and seemed to say 
to her mockingly, — 

“ You can’t do anything.” 

“ O heaven ! ” cried Edith, almost in despair, “ there is a 
black hand pushing me down.” 

In an excited, feverish manner she roamed restlessly around 
and could settle down to nothing. She scanned the horizon 
for a cloud, as the shipwrecked might for a sail. 

“ Edie, what is the matter? ” said Laura, putting her arms 
about her sister. 

“ It won’t rain,” said Edith, bursting into tears. “ My 
home, my happiness, everything depends on rain, and look 
at these skies.” 

“But won’t He send it?” asked Laura, gently. 

“Why don’t He, then?” said Edith, almost in irrita- 
tion. Then, in a sudden passion of grief, she hid her face 
in her sister’s lap, and sobbed, “O Laura, Laura, I feel 


SA VED. 


385 


I am losing my faith in Him. Why does He treat me 

50 ?” 

Here Laura’s face grew troubled and fearful also. Her 
faith in Christ was so blended with her faith in Edith that 
she could not separate them in a moment. “ I don’t under- 
stand it, Edie,” she faltered. He seems to have taken 
care of me, and has been very kind since that — that night. 
But I don’t understand your feeling so.” 

“ Oh, oh, oh ! ” sobbed Edith, “ I don’t know what to 
think — what to believe ; and I fear I shall hurt your faith,” 
and she shut herself up in her room, and looked despairingly 
out to where the vines were drooping in the fierce heat. 

“ If they don’t get help to-day, my hopes will wither-like 
their leaves,” she said, with pallid lips. 

As the sun declined in the west, she went out and stood 
beside them, as one might by a dying friend. Her fresh 
young face seemed almost growing aged and wrinkled under 
the ordeal. She had prayed that afternoon, as never before 
in her life, for help, and now, with a despairing gesture up- 
ward, she said, — 

“ Look at that brazen sky ! ” 

But the noise of the opening gate caused her to look 
thither, and there was Arden entering, with a great barrel 
on wheels, which was drawn by a horse. His heart, so weak 
toward her, had relented during the day. “ I vowed to serve 
her, and I will,” he thought. “ I will be her slave, if she will 
permit.” 

Edith did not understand at first, and he came toward 
her so humbly, as if to ask a great favor, that it would have 
been comic, had not his sincerity made it pathetic. 

“ Miss Allen,” he said, ‘‘ I saw you trying to water your 
berries. Perhaps I can do it better, as I have here the 
means of working on a larger scale.” 

Edith seized his hand and said, with tears, — 


386 


WHA T CAN SHE DG ? 


You are like an angel of light ; how can I thank you 
enough ? ” 

Her manner puzzled him to-night quite as much as on the 
previous occasion. Why does she act as if her life de- 
pended on these few berries?” he vainly asked himself. 
“They can’t be so poor as to be in utter want. I wish she 
would speak frankly to me.” ^ 

In her case, as in thousands of others, it would have been 
so much better if she had. 

Then Edith said, a little dubiously, “ I hurt the vines 
when I tried to water them.” 

“ I know enough about gardening to understand that,” 
said Arden, with a smile. “ If the ground is not thoroughly 
soaked it does hurt them. But see,” and he poured the 
water around the vines till the dry leaves swam in it. 
“ That will last two days, and then I will water these again. 
I can go over half the bed thoroughly one night, and the 
other half the next night ; and so we will keep them along 
till rain comes.” 

She looked at him as if he were a messenger come to 
release her from a dungeon, and murmured, in a low, sweet 
voice, — 

“ Mr. Lacey, you are as kind as a brother to me.” 

A warm flush of pleasure mantled his face and neck, and 
he turned away to hide his feelings, but said, — 

“ Miss Edith, this is nothing to wha^t I would do for you.” 

She had it on her lips to tell him how she was situated, 
but he hastened away to fill his barrel at a neighboring 
pond. She watched him go to and fro in his rough, work- 
ing garb, and he seemed to her the very flower of chivalry. 

Her eyes grew lustrous with admiration, gratitude, hope^ 
and — yes, love^ for before the June twilight deepened into 
night it was revealed in the depths of her heart that she 
loved Arden Lacey, and that was the reason that she had 


SA VED. 


387 


kept away from him since she had made the hateful promise. 
She had thought it only friendship, now she knew that it was 
love, and that his scorn and anger would be the bitterest 
ingredient of all in her self-immolation. 

For two long hours he went to and fro unweariedly, and 
then startled her by saying in the distance on his way home, 
I will come again to-morrow evening,” and was gone. He 
was afraid of himself, lest in his strong feeling he might 
break his implied promise not even to suggest his love, when 
she came to thank -him, and so, in self-distrustfulness, he was 
beginning to shun her also. 

An unspeakable burden of fear was lifted from her heart, 
and hope, sweet, warm, and rosy, kept her eyes waking, but 
rested her more than sleep. In the morning she saw that 
the watering had greatly revived one half of the bed, and 
that all through the hot day they did not wilt, while the un- 
watered part looked very sick. 

Old Growl also had seen the proceeding in the June twi- 
light, and did not like it. “ I must put a spoke in his wheel,” 
he said. So the next afternoon he met Arden in the village, 
and blustered up to him, saying, — 

“ Look here, young Lacey, what were you doing at the 
Allens’ last night? ” 

“ None of your business.” 

‘‘Yes, it is my business, too, as you may find out to your 
-cost. I am engaged to marry Miss Edith Allen, and guess 
it’s my business who’s hanging around there. I warn you to 
keep away.” Mr. Growl had put the case truly, and yet 
with characteristic cunning. He was positively engaged to 
Edith, though she was only conditionally engaged to him. 

“It’s an accursed lie,” thundered Arden, livid with rage, 
“ and I warn you to leave — you make me dangerous.” 

“Oh, ho; touches you close, does it? I am sorry for 
you, but it’s true, nevertheless.” 


383 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


Arden looked as if he would rend him, but, by a great 
effort he controlled himself, and in a low, meaning voice 
said, — 

If you have lied to me this afternoon, woe be unto you,” 
and he turned on his heel and walked straight to Edith, 
where she stood at work among her grape-vines, breaking off 
some of the too thickly budding branches. He was beside 
her before she heard him, and the moment she looked into 
his white, stern face, she saw that something had happened. 

“ Miss Allen,” he said, abruptly, “ I heard a report about 
you this afternoon. I did not believe it ; I could not ; but 
it came so direct, that I give you a chance to refute it. Your 
word will be sufficient for me. It would be against all the 
world. Is there anything between you and Simon Crowl? ” 

Her confusion was painful, and for a moment she could 
not speak, but stood trembling before him. 

In his passion, he seized her roughly by the arm and said, 
hoarsely, “ In a word, yes or no ? ” 

His manner offended her proud spirit, and she looked him 
angrily in the face and said, haughtily, — 

“ Yes.” 

He recoiled from her as if he had been stung. 

Her anger died away in a moment, and she leaned against 
the grape-trellis for support. 

“Do you love him?” he faltered, his bronzed cheek 
blanching. 

“No,” she gasped. 

The blood rushed furiously into his face, and he took an 
angry stride towards her. She cowered before him, but 
almost wished that he would strike her dead. In a voice 
hoarse with rage, he said, — 

“ This, then, is the end of our friendship. This is the best 
that your religion has taught you. If not your pitiful faith, 
then has not your woman’s nature told you that neither 


SAVED. 389 , 

priest nor book can marry you to that coarse lump of 
earth?” and he turned on his heel and strode away. 

His mother was frightened as she saw his face. “ What 
has happened?” she said, starting up. He stared at her 
almost stupidly for a moment. Then he said, in a stony 
voice, — 

“ The worst that ever can happen to me in this or any 
world. If the lightning had burned me to a cinder, I could 
not be more utterly bereft of all that tends to make a good 
man. Edith Allen has sold herself to old Growl. Some 
priest is going through a farce they will call a marriage,, 
and all the good people will say, ‘ How well she has done ! ’ 
What a miserable delusion this religious business is ! You 
had better give it up, mother, as I do, here and now.” 

“ Hush, my son,” said Mrs. Lacey, solemnly. “ You have 
only seen Edith Allen. I have seen Jesus Christ. 

“ There is some mystery about this,” she added, after a 
moment’s painful thought. “ I will go and see her at once.” 

He seized her hand, saying, — 

“ Have I not been a good son to you? ” 

“ Yes, Arden.” 

“ Then by all I have ever been to you, and as you wish 
my love to continue, go not near her again.” 

But, Arden — ” 

Promise me,” he said, sternly. 

“ Well,” said the poor woman, with a deep sigh, “ not 
without your permission.” 

From that time forth, Arden seemed as if made of stone. 

After he was gone Edith walked with uncertain steps to 
the little arbor, and sat down as if stunned. She lost all 
idea of time. After it was dark, Hannibal called her in, and 
made her take a cup of tea. She then went mechanically to 
her room, but not to sleep. Arden’s dreadful words kept 
repeating themselves over and over again. 


390 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


“ O God ! ” she exclaimed, in the darkness, whither am 
I drifting? Must I be driven to this awful fate in order to 
provide for those dependent upon me? Cannot bountiful 
Nature feed us? Wilt Thou not, in mercy, send one drop 
of rain? O Jesus, where is Thy mercy? ” 

The next morning the skies were still cloudless, and she 
scowled darkly at the sunny dawn. Then, in sudden alter- 
nation of mood, she stretched her bare, white arms toward 
the little farm-house, and sighed, in tones of tremulous 
pathos, — 

“ O Arden, Arden ! I would rather die at your feet than 
live in a palace with him.” 

She sent down word that she was ill, and that she would 
not come down. Laura, Mrs. Allen, and even Zell, came to 
her, but she kissed them wearily, and sent them away. She 
saw that there was deep anxiety on all their faces. Pretty 
soon Hannibal came up with a cup of coffee. 

“ You must drink it. Miss Edie,” he said, “ ’cause we’se 
all a leanin’ on you.” 

Well-meaning words, but tending unconsciously to confirm 
her desperate purpose to sacrifice herself for them. 

She lay with her face buried in the pillow all day. She 
knew that their money was almost gone, that provisions were 
scanty in the house, and to her morbid mind bags of gold 
were piled up before her, and Simon Crowl, as an ugly 
spectre, was beckoning her towards them. 

As she lay in a dull lethargy of pain in the afternoon, a 
heavy jar of thunder aroused her. She sprang up instantly, 
and ran out bare-headed to the little rise of ground behind 
the house, and there, in the west, was a great black cloud. 
The darker and nearer it grew, the more her face brightened. 
It was a strange thing to see that fair young girl looking 
toward the threatening storm with eager, glad expectancy, 
as if it were her lover. The heavy and continued roll of the 


391 


SA V ED. 

thunder, like the approaching roar of battle, was sweeter 
to her than love’s whispers. She saw with dilating eyes the 
trees on the distant mountain’s brow toss ar.d writhe in the 
tempest ; she heard the fall of rain-drops on the foliage of 
the mountain’s side as if they were the feet of an army com- 
ing to her rescue. A few large ones, mingled with hail, fell 
arou.d er like scattering shots, and she put out her hands 
to ca.ch them. The fierce gusts caught up her loosened 
h ir and it streamed away behind her. There was a blind- 
ing flash, and the branches of a tall locust near came quiver- 
ing down — she only smiled. 

But dismay and trembling fear overwhelmed her as the 
shower passed on to the north. She could see it raining 
hard a mile away, but the drops ceased to fall around her. 
The deep reverberations rolled away in the distance, and in 
the west there was a long line of light. As the twilight 
deepened, the whole storm was below the horizon, only 
sending up angry flashes as it thundered on to parts un- 
known. With clasped hands and despairing eyes, Edith 
gazed after it, as the wrecked floating on a raft might watch 
a ship sail away, and leave them to perish on the wide ocean. 

She walked slowly down to the little arbor, and leaned 
wearily back on the rustic seat. She saw night come on in 
breathless peace. Not a leaf stirred. She saw the moon rise 
over the eastern hills, as brightly and serenely as if its rays 
would not fall on one sad face. 

Hannibal called, but she did not answer. Then he came 
out to her, and put the cup of tea to her lips, and made her 
drink it. She obeyed mechanically. 

Poor chile, poor chile,” he murmured, “ I wish ole 
Hannibal could die for you.” 

She lifted her face to him with such an expression that he 
hastened away to hide his tears. But she sat still, as if in a 
dream, and yet she felt that the crisis had come, and that 


392 


WHA T CAN SHE DO ? 


before she left that place she must come to some decision. 
Reason would be dethroned if she lived much longer in such 
suspense and irresolution. And yet she sat still in a dreamy 
stupor, the reaction of her strong excitement. It seemed, 
in a certain sense, peaceful and painless, and she did not 
wish to goad herself out of it. 

“It may be like the last sleep before execution,” she 
thought, “ therefore make the most of it,” and her thoughts 
wandered at will. 

A late robin came flying home to the arbor where the 
nest was, and having twittered out a little vesper-song, put 
its head under its wing, near his mate, which sat brooding 
in the nest over some little eggs, and the thought stole into 
her heart, “ Will God take care of them and not me ? ” and 
she watched the peaceful sleep of the family over her head 
as if it were an emblem of faith. 

Then a sudden breeze swept a spray of roses against her 
face, and their delicate perfume was like the “still small 
voice ” of love, and the thought passed dreamily across 
Edith’s mind, “ Will God do so much for that little cluster 
of roses and yet do nothing for me?” 

How near the Father was to His child ! In this calm that 
followed her long passionate struggle. His mighty but gentle 
Spirit could make itself felt, and it stole into the poor girl’s 
bruised heart with heavenly suggestion and healing power. 
The happy days when she followed Jesus and sat daily at 
His feet were recalled. Her sin was shown to her, not in 
anger, but in the loving reproachfulness of the Saviour’s 
look upon faithless Peter, and a voice seemed to ask in her 
soul, “ How could you turn away your trust from Him to 
anything else ? How could you think it right to do so great 
a wrong? How could you so trample upon the womanlv 
nature that He gave you as to think of marrying where 
neither love nor God would sanction? ” 


SA VED. 


393 


Jesus seemed to stand before her, and point up to the 
robins, saying, I feed them. I fed the five thousand. I 
feed the world. I can feed you and yours. Trust me. Do 
right. In trying to save yourself you will destroy yourself.” 

With a divine impulse, she threw herself on the floor of 
the arbor, and cried, — 

'‘Jesus, I cast myself at Thy feet. I throw myself on Thy 
mercy. When I look the world around, away from Thee, I 
see only fear and torment. If I die, I will perish at Thy feet." 

Was it the moonlight only that made the night luminous i* 
No, for the glory of the Lord shone around, and the peace 
that " passeth all understanding ” came flowing into her soul 
like a shining river. The ugly phantoms that had haunted 
her vanished. The " black hand that seemed pushing her 
down,” became her Father’s hand, shielding and sustaining. 

She rose as calm and serene as the summer evening and 
went straight to Mrs. Allen’s room and said, — 

“ Mother, I will never marry Simon Crowl.” 

Her mother began to cry, and say piteously, — 

"Then we shall all be turned into the street.” 

" What the future will be I can’t tell,” said Edith, gently, 
but firmly. " I will work for you, I will beg for you, I will 
starve with you, but I will never marry Simon Crowl, nor 
any other man that I do not love.” And pressing a kiss on 
her mother’s face, she went to her room, and soon was lost 
in the first refreshing sleep that she had had for a long time. 

She was wakened toward morning by the sound of rain, 
and, starting up, heard its steady, copious downfall. In a 
sudden ecstasy of gratitude she sprang up, opened the blinds 
and looked out. The moon had gone down, and through 
the darkness the rain was falling heavily ; she felt it upon 
her forehead, her bare neck and arms, and it seemed to 
her Heaven’s own baptism into a new and stronger faith and 
a happier life. 


394 


WHAT CAh SHE DO? 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


CLOSING SCENES. 


HE clouds were clearing away when Edith came down 



i late the next morning, and all saw that the clouds 
had passed from her brow. 

“ Press de Lord, Miss Edie, you’se yoursef again ! ” said 
Hannibal, joyfully. “ I neber see a shower do such a heap 
ob good afore.” 

No,” said Edith, sadly ; “ I was myself. I lost my 
Divine Friend and Helper, and I then became myself — 
poor, weak, faulty Edith Allen. But, thanks to His mercy, 
I have found Him again, and so hope to be the better self 
that He helped me to be before.” 

Zell looked at her with a sudden wonder, and went out 
and stayed among her flowers all day. 

Laura came and put her arms around her neck, and said, 
P Edie, I am so glad ! What you said set me to fearing 
and doubting ; but I am sure we can trust Him.” 

Mrs. Allen sighed drearily, and said, I don’t understand 
it at all.” 

But old Hannibal slapped his hands in true Methodist 
style, exclaiming, Dat’s it ! Trow away de ole heart ! Get 
a new one ! Press de Lord ! ” 

Edith went out into the garden, and saw that there were 
a great many berries ripe ; then she hastened to the hotel, 
and said, — 

, O Mrs. Groody, for Heaven’s sake, won’t you help me 
sell my strawberries up here?” 


CLOSING SCENES. 


395 


Yes, my dear,” was the hearty response ; “ both for your 
sake and the strawberries, too. We get them from the city, 
and would much rather have fresh country ones.” 

Edith returned with her heart thrilling with hope, and set 
to work picking as if every berry was a ruby, and in a few 
hours she had six quarts of fragrant fruit. Malcom had 
lent her little baskets, and Hannibal took them up to the 
hotel, for Arden would not even look toward the little cot- 
tage any more. The old servant came back grinning with 
delight, and gave Edith a dollar and a half. 

The next day ten quarts brought two dollars and a half. 
Then they began to ripen rapidly, the rain having greatly 
improved them, and Edith, with considerable help from the 
others, picked twenty, thirty, and fifty quarts a day. She 
employed a stout boy from the village, to help her, and, 
through him, she soon had quite a village trade also. He 
had a percentage on the sales, and, therefore, was very sharp 
in disposing of them. 

How Edith gloated over her money ! how, with more than 
miserly eyes, she counted it over every night, and pressed 
it to her lips ! 

In the complete absorption of the past few weeks Edith 
had not noticed the change going on in Zell. The poor 
creature was surprised and greatly pleased that the flowers 
grew so well for her. Every opening blossom was a new 
revelation, and their sweet perfume stole into her wounded 
heart like balm. The blue violets seemed like children’s 
eyes peeping timidly at her ; and the pansies looked so 
bright and saucy that she caught herself smiling back at 
them. The little black and brown seeds she planted came 
up so promptly that it seemed as if they wanted to see her 
as much as she did them. 

“ Isn’t it queer,” she said one day to herself, ‘Hhat sucn 
pretty things can come out of such ugly little things.” 


396 


WHA T CAN SHE DO t 


Nothing in nature seemed to turn away from her, any more 
than would nature’s God. The dumb life around began to 
speak to her in many and varied voices, and she who fled 
from companionship with her own kind would sit and chirp 
and talk to the birds, as if they understood her. And they 
did seem to grow strangely familiar, and would almost eat 
crumbs out of her hand. 

One day in June she said to Hannibal, who was working 
near, “ Isn’t it strange the flowers grow so well for me ? ” 

‘^Why shouldn’t dey grow for you. Miss Zell?” asked he, 
straightening his old back up. 

Good, innocent Hannibal, how indeed should you know 
anything about it? ” 

“Yes, I does know all ’bout it,” said he, earnestly, and 
he came to her where she stood by a rose-bush. “ Does you 
see dis white rose ? ” 

“Yes,” said Zell, “it opened this morning. I’ve been 
watching it.” 

Poor Hannibal could not read print, but he seemed to 
understand this exquisite passage in nature’s open book, for he 
put his black finger on the rose (which made it look whiter 
than before), and commenced expounding it as a preacher 
might his text. “ Now look at it oharp. Miss Zell, ’cause it’ll 
show you I does know all ’bout it. It’s white, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Zell, eagerly, for Hannibal held the attention 
of his audience. 

“Dat means pure, doesn’t it?” continued he. 

“Yes,” said Zell, looking sadly down. 

“And it’s sweet, isn’t it? Now dat means lub.” 

And Zell looked hopefully up. 

^‘And now, dear chile,” said he, giving her a little im- 
pressive nudge, “see whar de white rose come from — right 
up out of de brack, ugly ground.” 

Having concluded his argument and made his point, tuc 


CLOSING SCENES. 


397 


simple orator began his application, and Zell was leaning 
toward him in her interest. 

“ De good Lord, he make it grow to show what He can 
do for us. Miss Zell,” he said, in an awed whisper, my 
ole heart was as brack as dat ground, but de blessed Jesus 
turn it as white as dis rose. Miss Edie, Lor’ bless her, telled 
me ’bout Him, and I’se found it all true. Now, doesn’t I 
know ’bout it? I knows dat de good Jesus can turn de 
brackest heart in de world jes like dis rose, make it white 
and pure, and fill it up wid de sweetness of lub. I knows 
all ’bout it.” 

He spoke with the power of absolute certainty and strong 
feeling, therefore his hearer was deeply moved. 

“ Hannibal,” she said, coming close to him, and putting 
her hand on his shoulder, ‘Mo you think Jesus could turn 
my heart white? ” 

“Sartin, Miss Zell,” answered he, stoutly. “Jes as easy 
as He make dis white rose grow.” 

“ Would you mind asking Him ? It seems to me I would 
rather pray out here among the flowers,” she said, in low, 
tremulous tones. 

- So Hannibal concluded his simple, but most effective ser- 
vice by kneeling down by his pulpit, the rose-bush, and 
praying, — 

“Bressed Jesus, guv dis dear chile a new heart, ’cause 
she wants it, and you wants her to hab it. Make it pure 
and full of lub. You can do it, dear Jesus. You knows 
you can. Now, jes please do it. Anient 

Zell’s responsive “ Amen ” was like a note from an Eolian 
harp. 

“ Hannibal,” said she, looking wistfully at him, “ I think 
I feel better. I think I feel it growing white.” 

; “ Now jes look here. Miss Zell,” said he, giving her a bit 
of pastoral counsel before going back to his work, “don’t 


398 


WIIA T CAN SHE DO ? 


you keep lookin’ at your heart, and seein’ how it feels, or 
you’ll get discouraged. See dis rose agin ? It don’t look 
at itself. It jes looks up' at de sun. So you look straight 
at Jesus, and your heart grow whiter ebery day.” 

And Hannibal and the flower did gradually lead poor Zell 
to Him who “ taketh away the sins of the world,” and He 
said to her as to one of old, “ Thy faith hath saved thee ; 
go in peace.” 

On the evening of the 14th of June, Edith had more than 
enough to pay the interest due on the 15th, and she was 
most anxious to have it settled. She was standing at the 
gate waiting for Hannibal to join her as escort, when she saw 
Arden Lacey coming toward her. He had not looked at 
her since that dreadful afternoon, and was now about to 
pass her without notice, though from his manner she saw 
iie was conscious of her presence. He looked so worn and 
changed that her heart yearned toward him. A sudden 
thought occurred to her, and she said, — 

“ Mr. Lacey.” 

He kept right on, and paid no heed to her. 

There was a mingling of indignation and pathos in her 
voice when she spoke again. 

“ I appeal to you as a woman, and no matter what I am, 
if you are a true man, you will listen.” 

There was that in her tone and manner that reminded 
him of the dark rainy night when they first met. 

He turned instantly, but he approached her with a cold, 
silent bow. 

“ I must go to the village to-night. I wish your protec- 
tion,” she said, in a voice she tried vainly to render steady. 

He again bowed silently, and they walked to the village 
together without a word. Hannibal came out in time to 
see them disappear down the road, one on one side of it, 
and one on the other. 


CLOSING SCENES. 


399 


'‘Well now, dey’s both quar,” he said, scratching his white 
head with perplexity, “ but one ting is mighty sartin, I’se 
glad my ole jints is saved dat tramp.” 

Edith stopped at the door of Mr. Growl’s office, and 
Arden, for the first time, spoke hastily, — 

“ I can’t go in there.” 

" I hope you are not afraid,” said Edith, in a tone that 
made him step forward quick enough. 

Mr. Growl looked as if he could not believe his eyes, but 
Edith gave him no time to collect his wits, but by the 
following little speech quite' overwhelmed both him and 
Arden, though with different emotions. 

" There, sir, is the interest due on the mortgage. There 
is a slight explanation due you and also this gentleman here, 
who was my friend. There are four persons in our family 
dependent on me for support and shelter. We were all so 
poor and helpless that it seemed impossible to maintain 
ourselves in independence. You made a proposition through 
my mother, never to me, that might be. called generous if it 
had not been coupled with certain threats of prompt fore- 
closure if not accepted. In an hour of weakness and for 
the sake of the others, I said to my mother, never to you, 
that if I could not pay the interest and could not support 
the family, I would marry you. But I did very wrong, and 
I became so unhappy and desperate in view of this partial 
promise, that I thought I should lose my reason. But in 
the hour of my greatest darkness, when I saw no way out of 
our difficulties, I was led to see how wrongly I had acted, 
and to resolve that under no possible circumstances would I 
marry you, nor any man to whom I could not give a true 
wife’s love. Since that time I have been able honestly to 
earn the money there ; and in a few days more I will pay 
you the fifty dollars that my mother borrowed of you. So 
please give me my receipt.” 


400 


WHAT CAN SHE DO ? 


‘‘And remember henceforth,” said Arden, sternly, “that 
this lady has a protector.” 

Simon was sharp enough to see that he was beaten, so he 
signed the receipt and gave it to Edith without a word. 
They left his office and started homeward. When out of 
the village Arden said timidly, — 

“ Can you forgive me. Miss Edith? ” 

“Can you forgive me?” answered she, even more humbly. 

They stopped in the road and grasped each other’s hands 
with a warmth more expressive than all words. Then they 
went on silently again. At the gate Edith said timidly, — 

“ Won’t you come in? ” 

“ I dare not. Miss Allen,” said Arden, gravely, and with a 
dash of bitterness in his voice. “ I am a man of honor with 
all my faults, and I would keep the promise I made you in' 
the letter I wrote one year ago. I must see very little of 
you,” he continued, in a very heartsick tone, “ but let me 
serve you just the same.” 

Edith’s face seemed to possess more than human loveliness 
as it grew tender and gentle in the radiance of the full moon, 
and he looked at it with the hunger of a famished heart. 

“But you made the promise to me, did you not?” she 
asked in a low tone. 

“ Certainly,” said Arden. 

“ Then it seems to me that I have the right to absolve 
you from the promise,” she continued in a still lower tone, 
and a face like a damask-rose in moonlight. 

“ Miss Allen — Edith — ” said Arden, “ oh, for Heaven’s 
sake, be kind. Don’t trifle with me.” 

Edith had restrained her feelings so long that she was 
ready to either laugh or cry, so with a peal of laughter, that 
rang out like a chime of silver bells, she said, — 

“ Like the fat abbot in the story, I give you full absolution 
and plenary indulgence.” 


CLOSING SCENES. 


401 


He seized her hand and carried it to his lips : “ Edith,” 
he pleaded, in a low, tremulous voice, “ will you let me be 
your slave ? ” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said she, sturdily. She added, looking 
shyly up at him, “ What should I do with a slave? ” 

Arden was about to kneel at her feet, but she said, — 

“ Nonsense ! If you must get on your knees, come and 
kneel to my strawberry-bed — you ought to thank that, I 
can tell you.” And so the matter-of-fact girl, who could 
not abide sentiment, got through a scene that she greatly 
dreaded. 

They could see the berries reddening among the green 
leaves, and the night wind blowing across them was like a 
gale from Araby the Blest. 

“ Were it not for this strawberry-bed you would not have 
obtained absolution to-night. But, Arden,” she added, seri- 
ously, ‘‘here is your way out of trouble, as well as mine. 
We are near good markets. Give up your poor, slipshod 
farming (I’m plain, you see,) and raise fruit. I will supply 
you with vines. We will go into partnership. You show 
what a man can do, and I will show what a girl can do.” 

He took her hand and looked at her so fondly that she 
hid her face on his shoulder. He stroked her head and 
said, in a half-mirthful tone, — 

“ Ah, Edie, Edie, woman once got man out of a garden, 
but you, I perceive, are destined to lead me into one ; and 
any garden where you are will be Eden to me.” 

She looked up, with her face suddenly becoming grave 
and wistful, and said, — 

“ Arden, God will walk in my garden in the cool of the 
day. You won’t hide from Him, will you?” 

“ No,” he answered, earnestly. “ I now feel sure that, 
through my faith in you, I shall learn to have faith in Him.” 


402 


WHA T CAN SHE DO f 


K 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

LAST WORDS. 

E dith did sustain the family on the products of her little 
place. And, *more than that, the yield from her vines 
and orchard was so abundant that she aided Arden to meet 
the interest of the mortgage on the Lacey place, so that Mr. 
Crowl could not foreclose that autumn, as he intended. She 
so woke her dreamy lover up, that he soon became a keen, 
masterful man of business, and, at her suggestion, at once 
commenced the culture of small fruits ; she giving him ? 
good start from her own place. 

Rose took the situation of nurse with Judge Clifford’s mai 
ried daughter, having the care of two little children. She 
thus secured a pleasant, sheltered home, where she was 
treated with great kindness. Instead of running in debt, as 
in New York, she was able to save the greater part of her 
wages, and, in two years, had enough ahead to take time to 
learn the dressmakers’ trade thoroughly, for which she had 
a taste. But a sensible young mechanic, who had long been 
attentive, at last persuaded her to make him a happy home. 

Mrs. Lacey’s prayers were effectual in the case of her hus- 
band, for, to the astonishment of the whole neighborhood, 
he reformed. Laura remained a pale home-blossom, shel- 
tered by Edith’s love. 

With the blossoms she loved, Zell faded away in the au- 
tumn, but her death was like that of the flowers, in the full 
hope of the glad spring-time of a new life. As her eyes 


LAST WORDS. 


4P3 


closed and she breathed her last sigh out on Edith’s bosom, 
old Hannibal sobbed, — 

“ She’s — a white rose — now — sure ’nuff.” 

Arden and Edith were married the following year, on the 
14th of June, the anniversary of their engagement. Edith 
greatly shocked Mrs. Allen by having the ceremony per- 
formed in the garden. 

“Why not?” she said. “God once married a couple 
there.” 

Mrs. Groody, Mr. and Mrs. McTrump, Mrs. Ranger, Mrs. 
Hart a^d her daughters, and quite a number of other friends, 
were present. 

Hannibal stood by the white rose-bush, that was again in 
bloom, and tears of joy, mingling with those of sorrow, 
bedewed the sweet flowers. 

And Malcom stood up, after the ceremony, and said, with 
a certain dignity, that for a moment hushed and impressed 
all present, — 

“ Tho’ I’m a little mon, I sometimes ha’ great tho’ts, an’ 
I have learned to ken fra my gude wife there, an’ this sweet 
blossom o’ the Lqrd’s, that woman can bring a’ the wourld 
to God if she will. That’s what she can do.” 










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